


Deep Fried Drinks

by cytara



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All other relationships are minor/in background, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff with conflict AND plot - I promise, I try and walk a fine line between humorous and serious topics, It's going tibia okay, Love is Blind AU, Romantic Comedy, Smut, i've got your back, medical puns are somewhat humerus, mental health, more vibrators than you ever thought possible, no current and no past twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytara/pseuds/cytara
Summary: Brienne, Jaime and eighteen other men and women hope to find love on a show called “Love Is Blind”. For ten days in a speed dating format, the men and women date in different “pods” where they talk to each other but not see each other. In order to meet, participants need to get engaged, plan and celebrate their wedding—all in the span of six whirlwind weeks.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 626
Kudos: 488
Collections: Jaime and Brienne Subreddit Fan Creation Challenges





	1. Brienne

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first rom-com! I usually write angst and I love angst, but given the times, I'm using this work as therapy to brighten my day. I hope it brightens yours!
> 
> When the JB subreddit had a poll with unlimited votes (it was a close tie with amnesia and online dating), I dropped hundreds and hundreds of votes into amnesia. By the time online dating won, I came up with this idea. It's online dating-ish. 
> 
> I usually write 90% or more of my works before I post them, but this work is an exception. I hope to post a new chapter, or more, every week. At the time of this note, I'm writing Chapter 5.
> 
> Yes, this fic is inspired by a trashy American Netflix show and _of course_ I had to throw JB in this mess. Seeing the show is not necessary to enjoy this fic! Thanks for reading!

Breaths fluttered between her twitching, parting lips. Brienne stood in front of a closed door, staring at the singular “10” posted above its latte-colored frame. Her hands, almost drenched in pools of sweat, flattened against royal blue chiffon fabric—pretty, but it concealed nothing. Yet, here she was, surrounded by a beige hallway, office ceilings and several film cameras. As her own nerves began to surprise her, she wondered if this opportunity was a mistake.

Looking to her left, she stood in line with nine other women—all dressed their best. Most of them wore smiles, although some pressed their lips so far together they disappeared. They were all excited to potentially meet their future husbands...including Brienne. 

A long haired blonde woman in a pink dress, standing a couple yards away at position nine, glanced over at Brienne and grinned. The other women seemed friendly enough. Quick buzzes filled the room and the women walked forward, reaching for their corresponding door. Instead of walking forward, Brienne watched the other women glide forward with smiles, grace and allure.

“Brienne…” a woman producer whispered from the side, “go in!”

_Oh shit._ Brienne scrambled to her door, long legs as awkward as a running giraffe. She stifled a blush, turned the handle and ducked under the frame of the door out of habit—even though it had enough room for her height. Keeping her face a mask, Brienne attempted to hide her surging awkwardness and anxiety. This, in a strange way, was no different from work. Ten quick interviews ... to see if she can imagine any of them as her husband. _Very different from work._ Not to mention, she only had ten days to make a mutual decision with her partner—if she found one—if one found _her_. This wasn’t _really_ speed dating, it was online dating on steroids and meth.

When Brienne entered the pod, hints of lavender tried to hide scents of untouched fabric and new furniture. Her vision traveled through the glass ceilings—they had told her a camera filmed above them, too. A faint, red dot stuck out like a zit, and she knew the camera was already rolling. Reminded of the reality show, she looked down and to the left. A long, slender window along the wall allowed a camera to film her from the side. Producers encouraged participants to ignore cameras as best as they could. So far, Brienne was doing a _great_ job. This was the first season and first filming of this show: _Love Is Blind_ —a new reality series on Wesflix. Brienne had her doubts, but producers of the show assured her this wasn’t to stir drama—it was to see if love was truly blind. _What better way to test that hypothesis than me?_

She no longer heard clicks of heels against floors, not even from her small wedges. Carpeted red floor and soundproof walls made the pod a vacuum of noise, except her hiccuping heart. At least the walls did their best to calm her, draped in a maroon color and accenting lights. The center of the room, towards _his_ pod—whoever was on the other side—was a window-like structure from floor to ceiling. Its textured, opaque glass glowed blue and purple. She stepped closer, letting the soft door close behind her.

It finally hit her—this was an experiment...and, if honest with herself, she hoped it worked. For years, Brienne tried online dating apps or friends of friends. None of them worked. Men always judged her profile picture, or her profession...or her height. Brienne did not consider herself beautiful. Braces helped her crooked teeth as a teenager, but makeup did little to hide freckles, broad forehead, flat chest or crooked nose. Fleeting thoughts of plastic surgery entered her mind while growing up, but they erased the moment she realized fixing herself was not for her—it would be for other people. Besides, plastic surgery could not reconstruct her most notable trait. She was damned if she wore heels and damned if she didn’t, either too tall or even _taller._ Brienne forced a smile, similarly to how she behaved with her patients.

“Hellooo, welcome to my pod,” a rich, masculine voice said.

Brienne glanced around, surrounded by the man’s sound. He was in the pod across from her, but she could not see him. She liked to imagine he and all the other men felt similar to her like dogs running zoomies. Uncontrollable nerves gnawed at her until she had no neurons left. Yet, she steadily walked over to the pastel couch, sitting in front of a circular table while she tried her best to remain loose and breathe through her nose. It was hard. Brienne crossed her legs, blue hemline falling above her knees, and reached for the table and retrieved a faux-leather bound journal. Its pages were mostly empty, with the exception of the first page. Someone had written Brienne’s name on the top, and below, were ten male names. The first name was Hyle.

“Hello?” he asked, startling her.

“Hi,” Brienne said. She glanced at the screen, reminded she could not see him. Other than her heart, she could only hear his voice. The empty journal rested in her lap, and she reached for the pen. After a quick click, she let out a small sigh and smiled.

“You have a wonderful voice,” he said.

“Thank you, you as well.” _Gods, this is so awkward._

“My name’s Hyle.”

“I’m Brienne.” Her tongue ran over her teeth in an attempt to hide her nerves. To put her hands at work, she flipped to a blank page, wrote Hyle’s name and “great voice” underneath it.

“We only have seven minutes, so...tell me about yourself,” Hyle said.

Brienne smiled. So far, this was nothing different from online dating, except neither of them saw each other. “Well, I’m 28 years old. I work at a hospital, helping patients. I work…a lot, but I love what I do. In my spare time, I read or work out.”

“Oh, are you—tell me what you do to work out?”

“Nothing super intense, just treadmills. Running outside when the weather is nice.”

He laughed and it sounded heavenly. “Can you do a pull up?”

“Yeah, probably, if I try hard enough,” Brienne said, adding a note about his great laugh in her journal. “What about you? I want to know more about you, too.”

“Pull up? For sure. Definitely. Can do.”

A giggle erupted from Brienne’s lips. She shook her head, “No, I mean about you, like what you do.”

“Oh,” he laughed, not sounding nervous—which made Brienne breathe even deeper. With how awkward she could be, she preferred someone confident. He continued, “I work in marketing. I’ve probably visited your hospital. I sell medical equipment. Maybe we’ve seen each other! Where do you work, specifically?”

Brienne chewed the inside of her cheek. Her career almost always sprouted odd reactions from people. _He’s going to find out eventually…_ At least the producers said they would cut work details from the final airing of the show. She inhaled a full breath and said, “I work with patients with severe mental illness. UKLC’s level one ward.”

“Ohh,” he said, “interesting. A nurse?”

Brienne smiled, wishing she winced instead. “Doctor.”

“No way, that’s awesome. So I can be a stay at home dad?”

_Uhhhh._ Brienne fixed her gaze on the blue screen, trying to imagine what this man looked like. It didn’t work.

Several seconds later, Hyle gave his charming laugh and said, “I’m kidding. What’s the most unique thing about you?”

“My height.” Brienne hoped her tone hadn’t changed much, but it probably did.

“Really short? That’s cool, you’ll make me look tall.”

“No, actually. I’m really tall.”

“Oh. Like...”

“Probably taller than you,” she said, trying to make it clear through her voice she was smiling. Inside, however, she felt like she was skating down a ramp with no breaks—heading towards a brick wall. “But I don’t mind shorter guys.”

“Just don’t wear heels too often. Do you play volleyball?” he asked, managing a chuckle.

Brienne pressed her lips together and glanced down her legs and her wedges. _Nope._ With no interest in faking a laugh, she scribbled down notes on Hyle’s page. The interaction soured quickly, but then again, it was likely tart to begin with.

A buzz signaled their session ended, and an eager Brienne stood from her couch. Still, she couldn’t be rude to this man. He was like almost every other man she met. _Nine more men to go._

“It was nice meeting you, Hyle,” she said, forcing a smile—although he couldn’t see. _But the cameras see._ Hyle said his goodbyes.

After exiting pod ten, Brienne and her journal shuffled over to pod nine. It looked more or less the same as the previous pod, except she noticed a faint scent of alcohol. Near an identical blue screen, a small cart filled with candy, spirits, tea, ice and glasses caught her eye. Brienne didn’t blame anyone for drinking, but with so much pressure to get to know ten men in such little time, she had no interest in drinking—or eating. Her stomach and intestines were already in knots.

She heard a noise coming from the pod across from hers. “Hello?” she asked.

“Hello, love!” a lively voice said.

Brienne smiled, but she considered grimacing. In her journal, this man’s name was listed as Theon. They fell into a typical conversation, about how interested they were in finding the right partner. After all, that was a requirement to be on such a show. Producers were adamant on finding genuine people ready for commitment. Brienne spent so much time working, she only had time to date online—and six years of bad first dates and Tinder interactions pushed her to her breaking point. 

“Any turn offs?” Theon asked.

Brienne finished writing her notes about him and scooted to the edge of the couch seat. _Jerks. Liars._ “You mean physically?”

“Either.”

Brienne chewed the inside of her cheek. “No physical turn offs. I really care more for the person on the inside.”

“Ahh, that’s deep.”

Brienne smiled. “What about you?” She paused and decided to dive straight into her insecurities. “Do you like tall women?”

Theon chuckled and said, “Depends. Are you into men making more money?”

Brienne held back a gasp. Her eyes searched around, as if she could see him smirking—but again, she saw no face. Buzzes rang above and it was time to change pods. _Thank the gods._

In pod eight, she introduced herself to a man named Grey. His deep voice sounded like cream liqueur and it enraptured her. He was the first man, in a long time, not surprised by her profession. When he admitted he was an AI scientist, his robotic mannerisms made sense. Beyond his smooth speech, he bore a serious exterior, and Brienne found herself reminded of a supervisor. No nerves translated through his voice and their conversation seemed to go well enough. But if Brienne looked for a spark, it wasn’t there.

The next pod, number seven, was a pleasant mismatch. Sam, a PhD student, rambled about history. Unlike Grey, anxiety _did_ translate into Sam’s voice. Brienne managed to wedge a word in about working in psychiatry, and Sam monologued about the history of mental illness. While interesting—it exhausted her to listen to seizures mistaken for evil or madness due to deities or incest. 

Before seven minutes were up, Brienne edged her way in and said, “You sound very nice.” He did, it was in no way a lie.

“Oh, thank you,” Sam said.

“How do you feel about tall women?”

“To me, height does not matter.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say. She smiled and buzzes rang.

Pod six was a trip. She entered, sat on a pastel couch and stared at the blue screen. Her eyes, by that point, accustomed to the sounds of doors opening and closing in her partner’s pod. She heard a door open and close, and the man had not said anything. Peering down at her list, this man’s name was Drogo.

“Hello,” Brienne said.

A voice, deeper than Grey’s, said, “Hello.”

They hardly said anything for the first half of the seven minutes. She welcomed the newfound moment to breathe and wrap her mind around everything. Halfway through meeting all of the men, she hadn’t yet found a contender. Part of her wasn’t surprised. Although, she would be lying to say she wasn’t disappointed. Through years of college, medical school and now residency, she no longer wanted to be lonely. Brienne wanted to fall in love—if it was possible. Harder still, she wanted someone to fall in love with her. Deep down, she doubted that chance existed. 

She met Oberyn in the next pod. His accented voice pleased Brienne’s ears. Not babbling, he asked her about her career and seemed interested in learning more. His accepting nature peaked Brienne’s interest and her eyes narrowed in on the blue light.

“Before we talk about you,” Brienne said, finding a rare moment of vulnerability, “I think a lot of men are intimidated by my height. How do you feel about tall women?”

He did not laugh. His voice filled the pod as he said, “I love all types of people. Everyone has their own version of beauty.”

Brienne mouthed “wow” and leaned into the couch, smirking. A spark. “That’s great,” she said, trying not to sound thirsty. “What about you, I’d love to get to know you more.”

“I’m a consultant for a travel company. I have an amazing job where I travel the world.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I could travel more.”

“Why not travel more?”

“Well, I’m not even finished with my residency. Are you looking for someone to travel with you?”

“Of course. I want to travel the world with the love of my life. Who wouldn’t?”

Just like that, the spark snuffed out. Brienne did not have the luxury to travel. And even if she did, it would not fulfill her. She put her heart and soul into work, helping people with mental illness. It was hard enough leaving several weeks for this show. The show scheduled ten days for pod dating. If couples agreed to engagement, the show planned to take them to a vacation in the Summer Isles. Producers gave more vague answers what happened _after_ the Summer Isles. The ultimate goal of the show wasn’t just to help participants find love, it was to film every aspect of it: falling in love, arguments, romance, planning, meeting family, living together and saying “I do” or…”I do not”...at the altar. _I won’t even get a proposal._

Fourth from last, Edric’s raspy voice intrigued her. He sounded young and he was a personal trainer. He asked the same standard questions everyone else asked. _What are you looking for? What do you do for a living? Tell me about yourself._ He didn’t seem averted by Brienne’s height, but didn’t ask many follow up questions either. Brienne listed him as a maybe.

Arys was next, a mechanical engineer who never once asked her about her career. Brienne closed her eyes during his blabbers. _Nope._

With only two left to go, Brienne looked forward to a long break. Producers had promised food in the common area, and while she walked to pod two, she fantasized about opening a bottle of white wine and hoarding it for herself. If she wanted to survive the next ten days of pod dates, she would need it. This was harder than board exams.

Ron waited in pod two, immediately striking up conversation when she entered. Met with his husky, fierce voice, Brienne complemented it with her female octave. Ron was a sales manager, go figure. Brienne bit her lip at the mention of their favorite novels. He said he enjoyed science fiction, one of her favorite genres. Stifling her giggles and girlish smiles, she jotted notes on his page and drew the shape of a heart. _Ron’s a nice name._

“What’s the hardest thing you’ve found about online dating? Or dating in general?” she asked. From the screen in front of her, blue and purple lights waved and danced.

“People think I have no soul.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “You mean…”

“Red headed.”

Brienne laughed, covering her mouth too late to hide it. “Is that really a problem?” she said while smiling, and she heard him chuckle a few times. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. I don’t mind at all.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Would we have red headed kids?”

_Kids?_ A blush tried its best to creep up her chest, but she managed to breathe it out. The idea of motherhood appealed to Brienne, but it felt like five marathons away. At the same time, she enjoyed thinking and planning the future. “Maybe. I am a natural blonde,” she said, giving into her own vulnerability.

“Wow, really? We would! Or maybe. I bet you’re the prettiest girl here, aren’t you?” Ron said.

Brienne’s posture slumped. “I ... am not.”

“Oh, come on, at least number two or three. You _sound_ pretty.”

Broadening her shoulders and holding her breath, Brienne scratched the point of her pen over the heart on Ron’s page. One line through the heart didn’t feel quite right, so she crossed through the heart again and again until it became a blob of black ink—like an octopus tap-danced on her page. Brienne flinched when buzzes hummed above her. “It was wonderful meeting you, Ron,” she said, standing and swooping herself out of the room.

Brienne walked down to the last pod, number one, and stood outside of its door. This entire adventure had been a failure—not nearly worth the weeks she toiled to get time off. The point of such a drastic and dramatic type of dating was to prove to herself that no one could love her. If she was proven wrong, it would be a welcomed surprise.

Looking down at her journal, she wanted to prepare for the last name on her list. Instead, her eyes glared at Ron’s name. He left a lingering, bitter taste. Brienne rolled her head around in slow circles in an attempt to release energy—and when the bee-like buzz signaled her to go forward, Brienne deliberately entered her last pod for the morning.

The most she could hope for was dignity, at this point. If this reality show ever aired, she hoped she could inspire women not to accept cruelty from men. _Keep your chin held high._ Inside the pod, she closed the door and walked over to the couch. Almost all of the pods looked similar, with only different colored accents and pillows. 

A sigh came in from the other pod. Brienne looked at the blue screen while she sat down, fingers laced in her journal. 

“Last one,” the male voice said, calm, yet disappointed. It wasn’t deep, raspy or floating, it was...average. Brienne opened her mouth to say hello, but he spoke again and said, “I’m tired. Aren’t you? Deal breakers—lay them on me.”

Brienne pressed her lips together and clenched her teeth. It sounded as if this man was just as much annoyed as her—only problem being that he seemed to take it out on her. Brienne considered ignoring or redirecting him, but the stress of such an odd morning washed her patience away. _Why care anymore?_ She leaned back into the couch and tossed the journal to the side. “All right,” she said, gazing at the top of the blue screen, “How tall are you?”

“Taller than you, I suppose,” he said, an air of cockiness in his voice. Brienne did not hide her wince. He continued, “Why even ask such a question on a show where looks are not supposed to matter?” 

Rash as red as peppers crept up Brienne’s neck. This man argued with her! 

He continued and said, “I have enough _length_ for the both of us, if that’s what you want.” He didn’t sound flirty at all, he sounded… _annoyed._

She narrowed her glare as something snapped within her. Not a stranger to awkward interaction, Brienne experienced enough of it in her life. Dealing with mentally ill patients for years allowed her just enough confidence to fight back. _He’s a dick pic guy, isn’t he?_ Brienne leaned forward and burned her gaze into the blue screen. “Do you make a habit of using innuendos for your cock on a first date?” Erupting into a full blush, Brienne’s eyes widened as she looked at the camera to the left, “Oh sh—can I say that?”

From the other pod, she heard him say, “Can she say _that?_ ”

_I can hear you._ The camera and person behind it said nothing. She averted her eyes back to the screen, hoping to end their seven minutes of hell early.

With the same assurance she heard before, he said, “I show, I don’t tell.”

Brienne bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a gag while she narrowed her brows. _He IS a dick pic guy._ Shaking her head, she raised her eyebrows. “That answers my question,” she mumbled.

“What question?” he asked.

“You’ve shown enough, thank you.”

“You’ve made yourself loud and clear,” he said. “I haven’t been on many dates, but I know asking about my cock is not recommended.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised why you have so few dates,” Brienne said. She never wished to harm people, but she hoped her words cut him.

“Some of us work for a living,” he said. Brienne wanted to gasp, but he continued, “I’m here to meet my wife, not banter. I’m going to guess you’re either really short, really tall or really shallow.”

Brienne’s heart yelped and spun in circles. This man was smart, quick and _aggravating._ “Why did you ask about deal breakers if you aren’t willing to talk about them?”

“I just did. Which one or ones are you? My guess is shallow,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

She unclenched her teeth and said, “Tall.”

“Lucky for you, I’m also tall. Unlucky for you, I’m going to skip the other way.”

“Don’t trip over your large head on the way out,” Brienne said. She stood with her journal, not caring if the buzzer hadn’t gone off yet. She had enough of his sarcasm, teasing and voice. Walking to the door, she opened her journal and sneered at his name on the first page. _Worst for last._ Unable to hide her bitterness, Brienne opened the door and said, “It was _wonderful_ meeting you, Jaime.”

“My name is Jaime? I thought my name was Tall.”


	2. Jaime

“All right, everyone, let’s go over first impressions,” Jimmy said, the producer. His flat, feathery blond hair looked like he had five too many cups of coffee. He clapped his hands together in the common area while Jaime exited his pod. It felt like a breath of clean air to be out of the pods and out of Brienne’s judgement. One by one, suited men exited their pods and gathered around the white island in the kitchen. Several men sat in chairs while others stood around the counter. Jaime stepped to the edge of the counter, next to a man named Kyle—or Hyle—he couldn’t remember. 

Gazing around, Jaime remembered mostly everyone’s names and the blue walls managed to ease him out of clenching his jaw and gripping his wrist out of frustration. Not much bothered Jaime, except a nasty bug or two, so it felt natural returning to a subtle smirk. He knew cameras watched their every move—at least in the pods and common area. Jaime’s eyes looked around him, wondering if he was the smartest, funniest man there. Instead of staring at men, he saw red chairs, blue chairs, white couches and a pool table: a glorified frat house. Cameras pointed into the kitchen and Jaime averted his eyes away, reminding himself to ignore them. 

Jimmy nodded towards the group while Ron reached into the fridge to grab a handful of beers. “Try to have a natural conversation about your first dates,” Jimmy said. “Who wants to lead the conversation?”

“I will,” Oberyn said, offering a simple smile. Jaime gave a similar grin. He wasn’t used to letting other people lead, but the idea rounding up the group and talking about ten women with these scoundrels made him want to stay quiet for once.

As Jimmy stepped away, each of the ten men reached into the center of the counter for their preferred beer. Jaime snagged an IPA and sounds of popping beer cans filled the room. His hope of yeast and bread covering up the men’s body odor was for naught—he couldn’t escape smells reminding him of school locker rooms. _Don’t think about that and don’t think about work._

“So,” Oberyn said, not acting suspicious at all, “what did you all think of Dany?”

Jaime stifled a wince. He had argued with her. She was a lawyer, after all.

“Anyone interested, raise your hand,” said Oberyn.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Jaime figured this scene would take a while to drag out. He brought his beer to his lips, tipping the cold liquid into his mouth. Hops coated his tongue while he looked around. Drogo, a large man, and Edric, a young guy, raised their hands—along with Oberyn.

“She’s strong,” Oberyn said. Jaime couldn’t argue with that.

Theon, a guy with a perpetual smirk shook his head and curled his lip. The only redhead did the same, along with Arys: a resident dingbat.

“Missandei?” Oberyn asked.

“Too sweet,” Drogo said, shrugging his shoulders.

Jaime did not feel a sense of chemistry with her or against her—although she neglected to laugh at his jokes. He kept his hand down. Around him, Grey, Theon, Hyle, Ron and Oberyn raised their hands.

“Gilly, she teaches, come on,” Oberyn said.

Sam, Grey and Oberyn raised their hands while Jaime flipped open his journal. He wrote a four letter word on her page: “nice.”

Arianne peaked interest from Arys, Edric and Oberyn. She was a content creator—whatever the hell that meant. Jaime considered her disingenuous.

Oberyn swooned over Ellaria, along with Arys and Edric. Jaime began to see a pattern, and still, he hadn’t yet raised his hand. In fact, he didn’t sense wife material in any of the ten women, and it would be a lie to say Jaime wasn’t disappointed. Still, he looked forward to the day the show would air, because it would mortify his father and sister. _What better way to unsettle them than go on a reality show?_ Jaime smirked.

“Melisandre, gods, her voice,” Oberyn said, raising his eyebrows. Men agreed all around, and even Jaime nodded a couple times—but his hands remained at his side. She did possess a hypnotic voice, but it was as potent as a handful melatonin gummies. Drogo, Oberyn, Ron, Hyle and Theon expressed interest.

“She said she’s tall,” Theon said.

Jaime glanced over to Theon. Next to him, Hyle said, “Like the other one?”

“Which other one?” Theon said, lifting himself onto his tip toes.

“I forget,” Hyle said.

Letting out a long breath through his nose, Jaime returned his focus to his beer. He wondered how many beers it would take for him to forget so many rough dates. _Too many._

“Osha, she’s a scientist,” Oberyn said, raising his hand. Sam and Grey joined in. Jaime’s jokes self-destructed with her, and it was a definite no-match.

“Meera,” Oberyn smiled and leaned over the counter, as if daydreaming. He raised his hand, but he was the only one. Her cheerful expressions failed to provoke any affection from Jaime.

“The fund manager, Sansa. Boring job, amazing voice, what do you say?” As expected, Oberyn raised his hand. Theon, Hyle and Ron nodded in agreement and raised their hands. Jaime barely remembered her.

“And one of the hottest voices, Brienne,” Oberyn said, smirking before he stood straight and sipped his beer. Almost every man nodded, but only Theon, Ron and Oberyn raised their hands. Jaime ignored the rest of the men and looked towards the pool table—in the need of something to do.

“She’s the other tall one,” Hyle said.

Losing sight of entertainment, Jaime peered over Hyle. Shorter than Jaime, Hyle broadened his shoulders to make himself appear larger—as if he was a prepubescent rooster attempting to crow for the first time. Much more interesting than Hyle, Jaime realized Brienne hadn’t made height a priority with only their conversation. She was shallow with everyone. His jaw clenched at the reminder of her hollow question.

“Yeah, but that voice. Does it matter? All women look the same if you turn the lights off,” Ron said.

Sam cleared his throat. “Now, that’s poor taste.”

“We are allowed different opinions here—” Oberyn said.

“Yeah,” Theon said, “like you having interest in every one of them.”

Oberyn grinned in response and shrugged. “Of course, I’ve only spent seven minutes with each of them. Why rule anyone out?” He glanced at Jaime and said, “Some of us prefer to narrow down options over time and some open doors slowly.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes, giving the beer can a small squeeze. He hadn’t raised his hands for any of the women. It didn’t interest him to pretend or force affection. Fully prepared to leave empty handed, Jaime preferred to avoid rejection or hatred. He grew up with negative media reports about his father's company, and it only worsened when Jaime became ill. This show was his chance for media redemption… and love. Plus, it was the longest vacation he would ever have—unless he started a family. _As if that will ever happen._

“Good job, everyone,” Jimmy said, jumping into the kitchen. He motioned for someone to bring in platters of barbecue pork and beef, slathered in sauce. Smokey, caramelized flavors wafted by the men as their eyes honed in on the food. _This is a ketchup-laced disaster waiting to happen._ But Jaime’s stomach didn’t fear the danger of stains.

“Take a couple hours for lunch, get to know each other, and we’ll do the second round of mini dates in the afternoon,” Jimmy said, offering a smile to each of them. The producer grabbed an extra beer and held it towards the center of the men. “Cheers!”

Sauce’s first victim, Theon, toddler-fussed over a brown stain on his dress shirt collar while Oberyn kept licking and dabbing his fingers over fabric. Jaime glanced down at his own suit, a dull sky blue color, and he escaped lunch stain free. Skill. Jaime spoke with Oberyn and Grey and they drifted over towards the pool table. Multiple sources of testosterone did strange things, and every one of them wielded their pool cue like a stake in the ground. At times of boredom, Jaime tempted himself to look at his phone by reaching into his pocket—but producers had already taken it away. For more than two weeks, every show participant allowed producers to confiscate their cell phones, laptops—any and all ways of communication with the outside world.

When Jimmy came in to prepare the men for their second round of dating, Jaime wanted to wince. Oberyn made for nice conversation, and with how _well_ the first round of dating went, Jaime would rather postpone talking to a bunch of thirsty women. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t call the shots. Producers said they needed to speak with each woman one more time before they put anyone on a “have as much chemistry as a dropout” list.

Jaime stood outside pod number one. He side eyed the line of men beside him, wondering if they were just as annoyed as him. Instead, most of them fidgeted with hands, journals or chins. Some smiled. Signaled buzzes rang in the hallway, and all ten men entered their corresponding pod.

As if someone placed noise cancelling headphones on his ears, he heard nothing. Jaime plopped himself on the white couch in his pod, gazing up through the windows in the ceiling. Producers told him to be genuine, no matter how sarcastic his behavior. Still, he didn’t take this show seriously. Looking at the blue screen, Jaime waited for the date to arrive in the pod across from him—even though he couldn’t see a thing in their pod. He could only listen.

Dressed in leather shoes, Jaime’s feet wanted to tap against the red carpet—but lingering bitterness and alcohol from a couple beers loosened him. Still, it surprised him that a group of women on a dating show scared him more than he expected. Due to that, he built his walls higher.

He heard a door open, and the woman said, “Hello? Who is this?” The proper voice, although sounding sweet—in this moment—was unmistakable. 

Jaime scoffed and shook his head, smiling. “You.”

Brienne said nothing. He could only figure his presence was a surprise to her as well. 

Unafraid of her or her antics, Jaime tossed his journal on the seat beside him and said, “Only one more time with me, might as well make the most of it.”

Again, he heard nothing.

Jaime winced and leaned forward, placing his suited elbows on his knees. His light blue jacket matched his pants—he looked damn good, but this woman had no idea. Based on her silence, he sensed weakness in her. “You’re quiet and it’s making me all tingly inside,” he said, voice deeper.

“I’m making the most of our time together, as you suggested,” she said firmly.

He smirked. Although shallow, she possessed some wit. “Do you have any pets, Miss Brienne? Or should I say _Ms_?”

With an air of annoyance, she said, “Some of us work for a living.” Dropping the tone, Brienne said, “I love pets but I don't have time.”

Her attitude made Jaime arch a brow. “Excuse me,” he said, deepening his voice, “you need to pay royalties for using my line.”

“Ugh,” was all she said.

With no interest in him, Jaime quickly lost interest in her. One drop of her attitude was potent enough to sour an entire lake. He leaned back onto the couch and distanced himself from the blue screen. Unable to handle silence, Jaime said, “Thank you so much for asking about me. I have a dog. Which," he shrugged, "is surprising, considering..."

“Considering what?” she asked. “You've been bitten before?”

“No,” Jaime said, frowning. Her assumption caught him off guard.

“You're a cat person?”

“Definitely not,” Jaime shook his head. “They’re vermin.”

“You're allergic?”

Her questions made him sneer. “Only to you.”

Through whatever speakers in the room, he heard Brienne sigh. He smirked. This woman handled stress well, but he was only getting started. Making the most of his time meant pushing her until she snapped. Her seriousness rubbed him the wrong way, as if he went to a gaudy wedding in June—and it snowed—and they played country music. _Ugh._

Jaime pursed his lips together and said, “I have a feeling my dog handles spicy food better than you. And she stuffs herself with grass and regurgitates it up on my door mat.”

From inside her pod, he heard ice clank and fall to the floor as something dropped—Jaime guessed her drink. She said nothing. Dropping her drink was an expected reaction to his sudden rant about his dog yacking up grass, but her lack of frustration surprised him. She did a damn good job of hiding her emotion.

“Drink too spicy for you?” he asked, verbally cornering her.

“You’re horrid,” she said, calling him out.

Jaime’s chin ducked lower while his lips twitched. It sounded so… odd for someone to call him horrid. “Are you calling me ugly?” Her words were spicier than his.

She said, “Do you need a hearing exam?”

Horrid stung more than ugly. Impressed by her banter, Jaime smiled—though she would never see it… until the show aired. _She’s going to kick herself for not taking me seriously._

After another sigh, she said in a softer tone, “Sorry, that was completely uncalled for.”

“I’m not surprised you want someone handsome. And tall,” Jaime said, gesturing to himself. 

“No,” she said, seriousness evident, “I asked the wrong question this morning. I want someone who doesn’t care if I’m tall. I don’t care what he looks like.”

Her admission either meant she was lying or he misjudged her. Jaime placed his bets on the former option. “You don’t care if he’s ugly?” Jaime asked, expecting her to stumble on her own words.

“I hate that word,” she said, quiet enough as if she only spoke to herself. “No, I don't.”

Jaime gave the blue screen a narrowed glare. Her sudden softness and vulnerability made him pause. His brother, a dwarf with a list of unsightly features, had been called ugly his entire life. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t kind, and few people in the world had hearts large enough to love Tyrion. Jaime was one of them. Even so, he found the same was true when it came to romantic partners. He could have found the hottest, most famous woman in the world and Jaime expected nothing. In a way, he believed love was blind, and it was completely out of his control. Her words seemed to agree with him, and it softened his walls like butter sitting on a kitchen counter. He wanted to give her a dose of his wisdom.

Jaime said, “Well, you don’t get to choose who you love.”

Laughing lightly, she said, “I don’t believe you.”

His mouth fell open while a chill ran over him. “Don't believe me?” Frowning, he said, “You just said the same thing, you don't care if I'm ugly. How can you believe it yourself but not believe someone else?”

“I did not say the same thing. Can we talk about something else?”

“Work? We can talk about water coolers, cubicle decor, meetings that should be emails...” Jaime asked, wondering if she wouldn’t mind his list full of jokes. 

“Not work.”

Jaime ignored her. “You hate your work? Did they cut you out of the party planning committee?”

“I love what I do, but I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

At a dead end, Jaime leaned his back against the couch. “I _do_ know what you want to talk about. What’s the worst thing to ever happen to you because of your height?”

Silence came before she said, “My bun caught in the sunroof once.”

Jaime smiled. He figured uptight Brienne wouldn’t stand for such inconveniences. “You have short hair now?”

Thick with anger, she said, “Why does that matter?”

Clenching his jaw and pressing his lips together, Jaime hardened his eyes at the blue screen. She obsessed over his intentions without analyzing her own. He forced his face to relax, but his mind refused to stop boiling. He joined this experiment for many reasons: try a harsher version of online dating, piss family off, and most of all, escape pressures from society. Yet, as soon as this woman opened her mouth, she asked about his height! 

“Are you always like this?” Jaime asked. His words did not mean to amuse her. “Insufferable? Judgmental?”

From her pod, he heard something move. With a smile, he wished he could see her shocked face. Instead, he only heard her voice, and she said in a calm tone, “I’m going to leave this pod so you can answer that question yourself.” She continued, “In addition, you’re contentious, vulgar, cowardly and insincere. I don’t appreciate you.”

Jaime stared forward with tense brows. He should have smiled, but he frowned. Such bluntness confronted him. One word hit him particularly hard: coward. He was no coward. He risked his entire damn life for people’s safety and health. He heard her door close and muteness returned. Unable to sit still, he stood, grabbed his journal and exited the pod. Buzzes hadn’t signaled the end of the date, but Edric already spoke with Jimmy in the hallway. Jaime approached both of them.

“We can’t give you advice, we can only schedule your dates and provide things like food and drinks,” Jimmy said to Edric.

The young man’s posture slouched while he nodded his head.

Jimmy and Edric’s eyes lifted as Jaime joined their small group. Loosening his tightened jaw, Jaime glared and said, “I don’t need advice. I need you to put that woman on my no list.”


	3. Brienne

Brienne had a problem. The men’s potential dropped like valproic acid serum levels. She blamed nearly every misfired conversation on her first pod date of the afternoon: Jaime. With no time to think about their odd exchange, Brienne bit hard enough into her cheek to break skin. It made sense to be humorous and flirty, but Jaime preferred to mock her and the process of this experiment.

Working in psychiatry, she tried her best to not be judgmental, but his insult clanged in her ears. So much so that she barely listened to Sam’s historical rambles or Drogo’s second attempt at a first date. Only Oberyn pulled her out of the mess inside her head. Even then, Brienne couldn’t shake the incompatibilities. _True love overcomes troubles._

After their afternoon round of dates, women popped open several bottles of champagne while Brienne refilled her white wine. Some of the women were already inebriated, and Brienne pressed her lips together before gulping half of her drink. Most of her first drink soaked into her dress—now dry. His salty words were so unexpected she dropped her drink during their _talk_. She felt like a cat scrambling around in a bath. Brienne clenched her teeth.

Selena glided over, floor clicking with sounds of her heels, and she stood a head shorter than Brienne. She was the lead producer for the women, and arrived to their group with a beaming smile and a packet of papers. Her dark brown eyes grinned, along with her perfectly wavy black hair. She was beautiful. Brienne glanced over to the other women. Almost everyone was beautiful…

“Ladies,” Selena said, “I have your papers ready. Mark down your favorites—the men you definitely want to speak with again. Jot down the men you do not want to date again and we will not pair you with them. Our goal is foster connections, and now the real work begins. In this common area, with all you wonderful ladies, have dinner, celebrate and continue to get to know each other. Tomorrow, we will start longer dating sessions. If the guy you are interested in also expresses interest in you, we will pair you up for another date. If he has placed you on his do not speak again list, we will not pair you. These are the times for mutual connections. And remember, within only ten days, we hope you receive authentic and genuine proposals for marriage.”

Brienne knew that wouldn’t happen to her.

Staring at her own paperwork, and ten male names nagged her like dishes waiting in a sink. Chemistry was hard to come by, but she knew of one name to cross off immediately: Jaime. The only person kind enough to warrant another must-have date was Oberyn, and Brienne glanced up after she circled his name. In front of her, women began chatting.

“Isn’t he a doctor?” Arianne said to Ellaria, both dark haired and pretty.

Ellaria held her flute of champagne so lightly as if it might be a bird. Her eyebrows raised as she asked, “How do you know that?”

“I asked,” Arianne said, smirking.

Brienne peered over the list of names. She knew almost every one of their professions, and she assumed they discussed Drogo.

Beside her, Gilly and Missandei discussed Grey and Sam while Sansa, a taller woman, though not as tall as Brienne, stepped closer.

“Champagne?” Sansa smiled and offered champagne towards Brienne.

Such genuine gestures couldn’t be ignored, especially after an exhausting day of dating ten men—twice. Meeting Jaime paralleled a few dozen bad dates at least. “Thank you,” Brienne said, accepting the drink. 

“Who do you like?” Sansa asked, smiling. 

“Oberyn’s my favorite so far,” Brienne said, willing to admit it. Other women started to gather around them and smile. It felt like a gossiping room in a sorority. 

“He’s everyone’s favorite,” Sansa said, smirking and looking around the group. Some women nodded their agreement while a few others giggled and shook their head.

“No,” Ellaria said, “our favorite is Jaime. Confident, funny, sarcastic—” 

“Ugh, don’t even get me started with him,” Dany said, one of the shorter women in the group. Her presence more than made up for it, and she crossed her arms across her chest while her fingers wrapped around her glass. She sneered and said, “We would be arguing non-stop.”

Sharing a glance and smile with Dany, Brienne said, “Glad to hear I’m not the only one mismatched with him.”

“I like Drogo,” Dany said, changing her composure immediately into a soft and daydreaming smile. “He’s sweet. And he sounds hot.”

“I feel like I’ve made a few friends, but no true romantic connection. Not yet, at least,” Gilly said. A rosiness sprouted on her cheeks, either from alcohol or embarrassment.

“Better try and make them fast,” Melisandre said. She stood a little shorter than Brienne, and could have easily been the most attractive woman there. A calmness surrounded her, which Brienne appreciated. “We only have nine more days to get engaged,” Melisandre continued, “Don’t let small talk or thoughts distract you. You’ll only find blind love if you try.”

Brienne stared off and towards the entrance to the pods, next to the common area. Of course, she didn’t want to be lonely—she wanted to fall in love and get married. But at the same time, she didn’t want to become a laughable meme on the internet. The idea of a man falling in love with her for her personality tasted sweet, but the bitter fear of him falling out of love with her for her looks—Brienne’s lips quivered. She believed no one could love her for who she is, inside and outside...Brienne wanted, so desperately, to prove that assumption wrong.

To test her hypothesis, she needed to push beyond small talk—Melisandre was right. In such a swipe left, swipe right culture, Brienne wanted to take advantage of time during the day and harness any potential sparks. With enough care and fuel, the spark could turn into something more.

Brienne spent the first part of her evening with her newfound friends. It was easier to get to know them without cameras, and she was extremely thankful for privacy when Arianne asked everyone’s preferences about penis size. Burning red, Brienne widened her eyes and refused to answer while a few others either agreed size mattered or disagreed. When yawns spread throughout the group, they handed in their lists and trickled out of the common area. Together, they stepped outside into the dark, city air in King’s Landing.

Bringing a book with her, Brienne waved goodnight to a few girls. Ten, small trailers were outside and on the north side of the parking lot. Producers said the men’s trailers were on the south side, and of course, their groups were not allowed to meet. With no phones, Brienne had no hope to research or discover profiles, pictures or behaviors of any of the men. Only her ears guided her closer to or farther away from love.

Low ceilings of her trailer made her crouch as she walked over to her small twin bed. Scents of the toilet floated in the air and Brienne did her best to cuddle and curl around herself and her book on the small bed. Exhausted, she fell asleep.

When dawn arrived, Brienne used extra reserves to push through a dull headache. Anti-inflammatories, water, breakfast and a shower were her only goals, and once achieved, Brienne threw on simple makeup. She did not look forward to another day of dating, because the fear of realizing no one liking her… Brienne shook her head and stepped out of her trailer in her beige, long-sleeve top and jeans.

Upon entering the common area with the other women, Selena offered everyone a warm smile. “Whenever you’re ready to start a date, let me know. If you’ve been requested for a date, I will come to you. Brienne and Ellaria, you’ve both been requested already.”

“What?” A wrinkle deepened between Brienne’s brows. _Someone wants to talk to me… already?_ “Who?”

“Yes, please tell me who,” Ellaria said, walking over with Brienne to Selena.

The producer continued to smile and the end of the clipboard dug into the side of her waist as she clung onto it with both hands. “Can you clarify who the men are?” Selena asked into a dangling microphone next to her cheek. 

Ellaria gave Brienne a hopeful smirk.

“Oberyn,” Selena said and Brienne’s breath caught in her throat. _He likes me._ “And... Jaime.”

“Yes, please, I’ll take Jaime any day over Oberyn,” Ellaria said, widening her eyes towards Brienne for a second. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken. You don’t choose who you love,” Brienne said, unable to hide a twitch in her smile. Those were Jaime’s words, and it stung to use them. In front of her, Selena danced her eyes between the two of them while she listened to her earpiece.

Smiling, Ellaria flattened out her yellow dress and said, “I don’t love him yet, but we’ll see if the iron is still hot.”

“Alright, Brienne, you’re in pod one. Ellaria, pod two. Good luck, ladies, and have fun,” Selena said.

“Not too much fun,” Ellaria teased with a smile. “This is mature television, not explicit.”

Brienne stifled a growing blush and appreciated the reminder: cameras, and eventually an entire audience, were watching. Producers said they planned to edit and polish footage over the course of a year before they published it on Wesflix.

Slipping into pod one, Brienne ran her nervous tongue over her teeth. She did a damn good job hiding her emotion, especially from mentally ill patients—but this—this was a challenge. She looked to the couch and realized she had forgotten her journal in her trailer. _Shit._ Forcing a smile, she sat on the couch, crossed her legs away from the wall with the camera and closed her eyes. This was going to be the first date longer than seven minutes, and like Melisandre said the previous evening, Brienne wanted to talk about deeper subjects. Maybe, just maybe, Oberyn would compromise his world traveling. Maybe they could make it work.

She heard the pod across from hers open, but as before, she saw nothing but red walls and an illuminated, blue screen. Her heart kicked like some caffeinated rabbit, and the pressure of making a lifelong connection with a man, sight unseen, weighed heavily on her. As an expert, she refused to show it.

Oberyn cleared his throat, and Brienne smiled. She liked the way he sounded: confident and strong. Smiling, she imagined feeling the buzz of his voice on her skin—but still, she couldn’t picture his face. She struggled to imagine a single one of ten men she met, even if she only heard their voices and nothing else.

“Morning. How do you drink coffee? If you drink it black, you’ve earned some hair on your chest,” he said. 

Brienne’s eyes widened and stared ahead of her. He wasn’t Oberyn at all. He was Jaime.

_How the hell did this mistake happen?_ With crinkled nose and pressed lips, she shifted in her seat and gripped jean fabric around her knee. “Tea,” she said, and she heard subtle laughs from inside his pod. Ignoring his amusement, Brienne’s chin lifted. “I believe you have the wrong pod, Mr. Jaime.”

“Last time I checked, I could count beyond the number one,” he said, sounding unphased. “Not sure about you, though. And don’t think I’m surprised you drink tea over coffee. It explains a lot.”

Brienne gave a brief wince and looked over to the camera. The person behind it had already been shuffling out of their crammed section, likely to alert the producers to the mix-up. Someone messed up and now she was in a room with a man she never wanted to speak with again. After a deep breath, she loosened her grip on her jeans and flattened her hand against the couch cushion beside her. 

“Then it won’t surprise you that I put you on my no list,” she said, wishing she could glare at him in his eyes. She had no reservations to admit she disliked this man, and she intended to reject him—completely. “Your conversation doesn’t scare me, it just wastes my time.”

“Only love scares you,” Jaime said, tone unusually serious.

He thought he already knew her, and the challenge made her bite into her cheek. Squinting briefly, Brienne heard the door open behind her. Selena poked her red face in, ready to apologize. “Don’t worry about it, Selena, I’ll be fine,” Brienne whispered. _Third rejection’s a charm._

Selena closed the door and Brienne felt empowered to take Jaime down. She assumed he was a magician, or some glorified psychic, because he did a fairly excellent job of reading people. Unfortunately for him, she observed just as well, if not better. Brienne fixed her eyes on the cart full of jelly beans, glasses, vodka shooters, shortbread and bottles of wine. “You assume a lot,” she said.

“I take it, I'm correct.”

Brienne tilted her head to the side and glared at the blue screen. He called and raised his bet—perhaps he was a poker player. “You hate rejection,” Brienne said, diving deeper into his game of diagnosing. She was a professional. “Why else surround yourself with constant jokes or humor?”

He scoffed. 

She was right.

“I’m still here after you walked out two times,” he said. “I’m sensing a pattern, Ms, or Miss—I know it’s not Mrs—and you’ve never answered my question.”

Squaring her shoulders, Brienne said, “Doctor.”

After a singular laugh, she heard Jaime say, “Doctor.” He sounded as if he didn’t believe her.

Glaring, she said, “I see you haven’t gotten that hearing exam.”

“ _You_ don’t _see_ anything. Is that what you do? Stick otoscopes in people’s brains all day?” Brienne opened her mouth to respond but Jaime’s voice beat her to it as he said, “What kind? PhD? DC? Ph—”

“MD,” she said.

Another solitary laugh came from him. “Again, what kind? Stop being so shy, Dr. Brienne,” he said in a deeper tone.

She had nothing to be ashamed of, although loads of people freaked out when she said what she did for a living. For someone so uninterested in her, she failed to understand why he cared to know such details. Brienne waited a few seconds and said, “Psychiatry.”

“Ha!”

His reaction left her frozen, as if someone plunged her into an ice bath. She stared at the blue screen while he continued to chuckle. When his laughs died down, Jaime said, “That explains your last outburst. Hey, here’s my favorite joke: two psychiatrists pass in the hall. The first says, “Hello.” The other wonders what he meant by that.”

“Thank you,” Brienne said, wincing and smiling at the same time. “I haven’t heard that one before.” She had.

“Stop the doctor bull,” he said, sounding a bit confrontational, likely due to her not laughing at his joke. “I’m guessing you’re in the fancy room with all the celebrity, manic-depressive cases?”

“No,” Brienne said, ignoring his vulgar term, “I work with severe cases in a level one ward.”

“Really? You’re in the trenches. Schizophrenics. Druggies. Manics. Suicidal cases. You work in ED, too?”

Blinking, she looked to the camera. “Sometimes. You seem to know a lot about this subject.”

“I hope so,” he said. “I’m a physician, too. Start calling yourself a physician like the rest of us.”

Brienne snapped her gaze over to the blue screen, focusing on the slow rolling waves of light. Very few things shocked her, but he did. Glaring, she asked, “You’re a physician?”

“As much as you, although you sound like a resident. I’m more of a physician than you, I bet. I don’t know how you managed to get this much time off of work.”

She was a resident, but that didn’t matter. Brienne narrowed her brows and leaned closer. “What kind?” Brienne said, repeating his question from before. “I know it’s not psychiatry.”

“Rude,” he said. “How do you know?”

“Using words like manic and schizophrenic stigmatizes those diseases. People are not their diseases. The patient has schizophrenia, for example.”

“Gods.” He sounded annoyed. “Is it too early for me to get a drink?”

“Then you’re not a gastroenterologist either,” Brienne said, stating her mind. His liver wasn’t a priority. Then again, she knew a few colon oncologists who consistently ate processed meats for lunch.

“You’re funny,” he said, but he didn’t laugh. “What do you think I practice?”

Brienne squinted and leaned back on the couch. A lose-lose question, she pursed her lips and rolled her head to stretch her neck. She hated diving into stereotypes, but some had slivers of truth to them. He was cocky and took few things seriously, which led her to guess emergency or surgery. Swallowing, she scooted towards the edge of her couch and said, “I think you put hundreds of students through sufferable lectures and bogus exams.”

She heard him scoff. “Excuse me, I guest lecture once a year and students love my presentation.”

Head tilting to the side, she asked, “You’re specialized?”

“I am.”

“Why won’t you just tell me?” Brienne asked, alternating between a glare and a smirk. 

“Such a psychiatrist,” he muttered under his breath, but she heard him. Jaime continued, “We have all the time in the world, and I’m enjoying myself. Keep guessing. Diagnose me with your mind reading powers.”

They didn’t have all the time in the world. In fact, she was supposed to be enjoying a date with Oberyn. But the doctor inside of her appreciated the challenge. Intrigued and invested, Brienne’s eyes glanced over to the cart while she thought harder. “Not all surgeons are the same, but you remind me of a few.”

“They _are_ all the same, and no, I am not a surgeon. I do work with a few of them, though.”

“How so?”

“Sneaky. They do the dirty work. I diagnose. Yell at people. It’s my dream job. I did read a study that said my specialty is the most depressed. I’m not there, yet, but I’m glad I know a shrink now.”

She felt his sarcasm oozing into her pod. Brienne shook her head and said, “Oncology?” Having to watch patients succumb to such a crippling illness had to be one of the worst experiences. She considered oncology... once, but spending hours pouring over new drugs and papers disinterested her more than patients. She yearned to serve the underserved, and patients suffering through mental illness needed all the help they could get. Nothing else would fulfill her more—except love. 

“No, although, like oncologists, I murder for a living,” he said.

_What?_ Wincing, she stared at the red, carpeted floor. Sure, oncologists gave patients poison to kill their own cancerous cells—but what other specialty could possibly compare…

Jaime spoke again, “The daily murder of trillions of microbes takes a psychological toll, apparently.”

“Infectious diseases,” Brienne said in a dry tone. It made sense. He had a dog, but he likely never touched it. He hated cats. She knew a few infectious disease doctors, but they almost all specialized in HIV or HepC infections. Those diseases appeared frequently in drug users, patients she saw all of the time. Every specialty had their own associations, and one in particular floated through Brienne’s mind. 

“Are you a germaphobe?” she asked.

“I’m not, elsewise I wouldn’t kiss.”

A small, singular snort left Brienne’s mouth.

“Did you just laugh?” he asked, “Or choke?”

Not responding, Brienne straightened her posture and stared at the blue screen. This asshole made her laugh, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“I don’t hear anyone performing CPR,” he said, “so assuming you’re still alive, what’s your most surprising patient story?”

Shoulders lowering, her eyes lifted up and through the windows in the ceiling. The large camera continued to film from above, even though this meeting was a _mistake._ She knew she needed to remain professional, especially to not encourage mental health stigma on streaming television. So many surprising events raced through her mind. One patient claimed he was the Night King. One claimed to be a dragon. Another regular visitor wrapped a towel around his head and said that if anyone managed to grab a strand of his hair, they would commit suicide once anyone touched his hair. She dealt with pedophiles, murderers, innocents, victimizers and victims. Some patients swallowed batteries, highlighters... Brienne knew none of these stories were appropriate.

“Well,” she said, wetting her lips, “as you know, it’s a locked facility. Every room has a window, but it’s locked. We do checks every 30 minutes to make sure they’re not a danger to themselves or to others. This patient was a computer technician with hallucinations and paranoia, and he found a way to disarm the magnets holding the windows closed.”

“Did he escape?” Jaime asked.

“No, instead of escaping, he went around to all of the other patients and taught them how to disarm their windows. That’s how we found out about him.”

“Bummer—I mean—good job, detective.”

Brienne glared, although he couldn’t see it. Her story wasn’t the best, but she also didn’t know if he could handle the worst stories. “What’s yours?”

Jaime laughed once and said, “One time, a surgeon asked me what to do. She had worn her mask at lunch and during surgery, a little peanut fell onto the patient’s heart.”

“No,” she said, not believing him. She imagined a singular, beige and salty nut falling onto a patient’s slimy, quivering heart. Picturing everyones’ shocked faces, Brienne shook her head and blinked.

“Yep. I told her to call her insurance before me next time. The patient sprouted all kinds of weird cultures, but they survived.”

“That’s a relief. Do you like what you do?”

“Of course. Like you, people think I hate my job. We chose our pathway, hopefully we chose right. There’s not nearly enough data to prove my point. WMJ paper says ID is the specialty with the lowest percent of golfers.”

Brienne held back a laugh. “I don’t golf either.”

“I’ve never heard a doctor say anything sexier, except that they wash their hands.”

Stifling a blush, Brienne said, “You _are_ a germaphobe.”

“Would a germaphobe do a show where he proposes to the love of his life without touching her? What a weirdo.”

Brienne smirked. His sarcasm was borderline infectious.

“I’d show you I’m not a germaphobe,” he said, “but this pod is proving difficult. Almost half of infections are due to germs on hands. Also the stethoscope, phone, white coat—I’m beginning to think we should do rounds naked.”

Unable to hold back her laugh, she chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t wear white coats—”

“Good,” he said.

“But if I were naked,” Brienne widened her eyes and blushed, “my patients would have a field day.” She lost count of how many times her patients perceived and interpreted every little thing about her. Even fully clothed, patients commented on her jewelry, height, clothing, expressions—anything.

“Mine probably would, too,” Jaime said.

“There you go, sounding like a surgeon again,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She guessed he was either fit, attractive, both or lying. Not that it mattered to her…

“At least surgeons wash their hands. I can’t tell you how many doctors I’ve seen not wash their hands. I try and cut them slack, because we’ve _only_ known about hand washing for over 160 years.” 

Brienne’s cheeks ached from smirking, so she pressed and rolled her lips together. Scooting to the edge of the couch, she stared at the base of the wall in front of her, where red carpet met blue light. It reminded her of them, seemingly opposites. He seemed extroverted, and very adaptable, whereas she lived in her thoughts and preferred structure. Humor laced almost every word he said, even if he ranted about his annoyances. Used to people’s rambles and problems, she inhaled a breath and asked, “Is that your biggest pet peeve? Not washing hands?”

“No. Stomach flu. No such thing. The flu is a coughing illness. How are you supposed to cough out your butt?”

Erupting in laughter, Brienne covered her face with her hands out of habit. She never liked how she looked while laughing.

“Aren’t I right?” he asked. His voice was lighter, teasing—almost.

“Yeah, you are. I think people don’t know what to call a stomach bug after they’ve eaten something bad,” she said.

“Everything we eat is covered with a thin layer of shit, sometimes containing pathogens. The moral of the story is to deep fry all of your food. Even drinks.”

_Deep fried drinks sound horrible._ Smiling with a curled lip, she asked, “You don’t have many cardiologist friends, do you?”

“They eat fried food all the time—they think they’re invincible. No, I don’t have many doctor friends in general, which is probably why I keep rambling to you. As for me, I will eat damn near anything, but I draw the line at raw oysters.”

Brienne nodded as her eyes floated over the screen. She knew what he meant about friends. Almost every doctor was an acquaintance, or a colleague, or a competitor. Fellow residents, attendings, nurses, social workers, case workers, pharmacists and technicians got along well with her, but she wouldn’t call them _friends._ Opening up about work was difficult, but even the small bits of information she revealed to him gave her a sense of fresh air.

From inside his pod, she heard whispers from another voice. The unknown male voice stopped, followed by a soft, murmuring whisper of Jaime’s voice. Her eyes glazed over as her ears focused on the sound, all while her teeth sank into her lower lip. She couldn’t understand his words...or anything else about him.

He cleared his throat and said, “Producer’s asking me to step out. What do I owe you for the diagnosing?”

Brienne’s eyes snapped up and towards the blue light, even though she couldn’t see him. She wished she could. Gods, she didn’t feel like herself. Holding back a surging redness, she said while squinting, “Who said I was done diagnosing? I’ll need more time.” _I haven’t ruled out narcissism yet._

“Fine,” Jaime said, “Until our next date.”

_Date._ Brienne stumbled on her own thought—her tongue trembling against the edge of her teeth. She wanted to disagree with him—clarify—she wasn’t interested in him. This talking did not feel like a date at all, it felt… therapeutic. By the time her mouth cooperated enough to let him know her opinion, she heard his door close, and he was gone. Behind her, Selena opened the door and a warm light filtered around Brienne’s back and shoulders while she stared at the screen, too comfortable to move.


	4. Jaime

“We apologize for the mix-up,” Jimmy said, walking with Jaime into the common area.

Over-roasted coffee in hand, Jaime grimaced and looked around the room. Jimmy stood near him, blue eyes worried. Jaime did not raise his voice, clench his jaw or arch his brow—things he would have done if someone made such a mistake. Instead, he struggled to find the right words to describe his surprise. He wanted to fall in love, above all, and Brienne’s first few dates might have been a false negative.

With his other hand resting by his rusted orange pants, Jaime said, “Your mix-up has been the best thing to happen to me today so far. When can it happen again?”

Oberyn walked by Jaime and gave him a large pat on the back, almost making coffee splash onto his white polo—but he narrowly survived the assault. Jaime returned a thin smile while Jimmy struggled to speak. “You can’t visit with or propose to someone who already has you on their no list,” Jimmy said.

Jaime flashed a fox-worthy smile and gazed around the common room. Yes, proposing was the goal for all of these men, if—only if—they found love. “Who said I was going to propose?” Jaime said, “I just want to talk with her again.”

Behind Jimmy, several men and cameras gathered in the center of the large gathering area. Theon, Hyle, Edric and Grey took off their shirts and started pushup contests and handstand competitions. Samwell volunteered to track their numbers and cameras ogled over Grey’s form. Jaime could out-compete nearly all of them, but Oberyn waved Jaime over to help him in the kitchen. Oberyn had already taken off his shirt, slapped on an apron and started flipping pancakes with a smile. Jaime appreciated almost all of the men got along well, although a few of the apples rotted on one side or another. Ron, Hyle and Arys reminded him of nagging Cersei. When drunk, Arys and Ron sounded like two whining, emotional mosquitoes sharing a cigarette. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jimmy said.

_You’re a producer, do whatever you want._ But Jaime, stuck in a world without phones, patients or consults, did as he was bid. He spent the remainder of the day filtering in and out of pods with several women—some of whom, he forgot their name. Tiring did not describe the experience well enough, and Jaime heard enough fake laughs to dub a sitcom. From Arianne’s voice, he heard her giggle at a joke she did not understand, but she pretended anyway. Several women asked Jaime to describe how he looked, and he spared them most of his cockiest answers. Ellaria’s hope washed away the moment she admitted she wanted committed, open relationships—whatever that meant.

Jaime tried not to expect much, but he wanted to meet his wife during this show. If he didn’t manage to achieve such a goal, pissing off his father was a guaranteed win. Due to his entire day turning to shit after his first blooper date, Jaime decided to shoot the shit with other guys. Combinations of alcohol and caffeine kicked his kidneys into time-and-a-half.

Men filtered in and out of the common room, pods and trailers throughout the day, but some never came back after dinner. Every time Jaime stifled a yawn, instinct drove him to look for his phone, but it was never in his pocket. It was near nine at night when Jimmy approached Jaime, Oberyn and Theon around the pool table.

“Ellaria wants me again?” Oberyn said with a smirk. He bragged well enough about their newfound connection. Jaime smiled for him—them. Two days into this mess and Jaime was nowhere closer to love. 

Jimmy gave a simple smile and shook his head. Theon gripped his cue harder, probably hoping for good news about Sansa. In truth, Jaime hoped neither of his new friends would be taken away on a late-night date, because they were just starting to talk about bitcoin. Exciting stuff.

Looking at Jaime, Jimmy said, “It’s late, but Brienne says she’s available.”

“Ooo,” Oberyn said, sharing raised eyebrows and smiles with Theon, who elbowed Jaime’s side.

Jaime’s heel tapped a jittery rhythm against the floor, instantly pushing drowsiness away and out of his mind. “I knew I could count on you,” Jaime said, giving his producer a charming grin.

However, his smile faded into thin, pressed lips of tight energy as he walked over to the pod. Oberyn handed him a full glass of wine with a wink. Accepting it, Jaime stood outside pod number one and looked down at the metallic and gold wine glass. His fingers drummed on metal.

Entering the pod, its calming warmth and atmosphere almost lulled him into a sleep. Pods were filmed, so they were inherently more comfortable on the eyes than their individual trailers. He didn’t mind intrusive cameras, knowing they would give his father a heart attack. Jaime seated himself on the couch, gulped a sip of crimson wine and set the wine on the small coffee table in front of him. His slowed eyes fixed on the blue screen ahead of him. Alcohol would only tire him out more, and his day already tested his patience. Meeting with Brienne, a wild card, so late might have been a huge mistake…

“Hello?” Brienne’s voice said. Proper. Unassuming. He heard it tremble—only a little.

Jaime breathed out through his nose, although he doubted she heard him. He leaned back against the couch to relax and said, “I thought you had me on your no list?”

“I heard you took me off of your no list,” Brienne said.

He almost laughed, but held it back with a full smile. _A shame I can’t see her smile back._ It shouldn’t have surprised him to learn she deduced he changed his mind about her, but he would be a fool to refuse her company. She was a physician, like him, and he enjoyed discussing difficult topics others found annoying. Even if she wasn’t his wife, or lover, he just might make a good friend. “Our producers are setting us up,” Jaime said. After a few seconds of Brienne saying nothing, he said, “How was your day?”

“Long. Yours?”

“Longer,” he said. “I actually tried today, you know.”

“Good. I mean, that’s great. One of the girls said she cried today in the pods. I guess it’s hopeful at least some of us are making connections.”

_Doubt that girl was you._ “Women are throwing their deal-breakers at me, some so generic. Turn offs, what I want in a wife, biggest fears. I just want to know if people smoke or have STDs.” Jaime smirked, hoping she would laugh at his joke.

She didn’t. “Today is the second day and you’re asking people about their STD status?” Judgement laced her tone and Jaime’s eyes narrowed because of her.

“We only have ten days and 99% of the time, I’m joking. I don’t have STDs, by the way, and no, that’s not a joke. Come on, you know it’s important, you probably deal with it all the time. With your patients, I mean.” While his own voice sounded relaxed, his mind raced and screamed. He felt like a kid learning how to ride a bike again—and he kept falling and falling. Eyelids grew heavier. Parched, he reached forward to take in another drink of wine.

“You are something else, Dr. Jaime,” she said.

He smiled, even though no one called him Dr. Jaime. He opened his mouth to correct her and give her his last name—but it worried him she would recognize it. Lannister. His father was a business executive at a major multinational conglomerate. Unfortunately, for his family, Jaime’s father was known for being ruthless and full of brutal candor. As CEO, his father saved a dying company and turned it into an empire—one Jaime never wanted a part of. Women acted differently when he revealed details about his family.

“I’m sure you’ve gotten those statements from patients, saying they got gonorrhea from the bathroom,” Jaime said, laughing before he started his quip. “I always love that. I tell them you can only get gonorrhea from sex with an infected partner. If you blame the toilet seat, all I have to say is that’s a hell of a place to have sex.”

She laughed, and it gave Jaime a rush. Every sound coming from her pod sounded genuine—there was no other way to describe it. She said, “Some of my patients have sex on the toilet all of the time. We walk in on them a lot. Sorry, that’s probably too much information, isn’t it?”

Jaime shook his head, wide eyed, even though she couldn’t see him. “No, not at all. Maybe for the show, but, you know they’ll cut this stuff out. You have a lot of great patient stories, I’m sure.”

“I do,” she said, voice relieved, and he found himself replaying her voice inside his head. Every vowel out of her mouth sounded like a melody. “But we’re not here to talk about work, I hope?”

Frowning, Jaime sat straighter. “Why not? My work is interesting. Your work is interesting—”

“What scares you the most about work?”

His lips tightened and pressed together. Out of habit, his right hand reached and wrapped around his left wrist, squeezing and rotating skin beneath his thumb, palm and fingers. Throughout his career, he had seen many frightening things, and none of them deserved discussion. “The answer should be obvious,” he said, unable to hide his annoyance.

“You’re not scared of getting some of the diseases your patients have?” she asked.

Cornered, even if she used a sweet tone, Jaime clenched his fists and narrowed his brows. “I already have.” Alcohol, tiredness and impatience led him to raise his voice, and his confession echoed off the blue screen and back onto him. Closing his eyes, he refused to remember himself at his worst. After taking in a deep breath, Brienne still hadn’t said anything. He said, “I’ve been asked deep questions all day.” _And I’m nowhere closer to anyone._

“Did you answer people’s questions or just joke with them?”

She knew his answer. Jaime forced a smirk, “You’re the shrink, how does one fall in love? Hypothetically.” He wanted the pressure off of himself. Right hand reaching forward, Jaime retrieved the golden wine glass and tipped the maroon, bitter tannins into his mouth.

“I can tell you’re still in a joking mood,” she said. Jaime let out a light scoff. She continued, “I suppose it’s different for each person. It’s about trust, vulnerability, respect and chemistry.”

Jaime winced and shook his head. “Attraction,” he said, glaring at the blue screen in front of him. “...to a woman I can’t even see.”

“Why did you agree to participate in an experiment where you might fall in love without seeing the person?”

“Because I want to fall in love.” Jaime set his empty wine glass on the coffee table and leaned his back against the couch.

“A bit of a paradox for you, hmm?” She said, smiling evident in her voice.

_She would laugh if I said I’m attracted to her._ Just the mere thought made him want to laugh. He was a brilliant fool to participate in such an experiment. 

“What scares you?” she asked again.

_I told you. Raw oysters._ Jaime winced, gave the edge of the pod a side eye and inhaled a breath prepared to lash out at her.

“I’ll go first,” she said, growing more quiet. “We… had a patient once. His parents submitted him as a danger to self, because he was starting to withdraw from school and he was obsessing over religion. We interviewed him, like we do for every patient. He was smart, an engineering student, and he was just at the edge of the usual age of developing schizophrenia. We had an option, ask him to follow up with us if symptoms got worse or start him on neuroleptics. It was my first month as a resident… and with all of the side effects, I—”

Jaime leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while his chin settled on his hands—eyes focused forward and ears ready. 

Brienne continued, her voice softer, “I recommended we hold off on medication. He never came back, but I did see him a few weeks ago. In just a couple years, he was homeless, addicted and begging for food underneath a bridge in Flea Bottom. No career, never graduated. One of the fastest declines in schizophrenia my attending had seen. Medicine manages symptoms to a point, but once you mentally decline, it’s gone. I should have started him on therapy, I should have kept him inpatient, I—”

“No,” Jaime said, frowning. “You couldn’t have known.” Her story had their own parallels to his experiences. Some patients had nasty bugs and they were lucky enough to have a severe allergy to the ideal antibiotic. He remembered many times he argued with doctors until his lips turned purple, but sometimes, a physician’s choice turned out incorrect. Sometimes patients lost their fingers, toes, limbs, hearts, and sometimes… their lives.

“I should have done something. But I didn’t,” she said. “Holding such responsibility for a patient’s life and wellbeing, and then making the wrong call—that scares me.”

“That makes you a good physician. If your day isn’t a pain in your neck, you are either doing it wrong or missing something important,” Jaime said, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

“Thank you. I’m worried this isn’t any different—falling in love.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve been a pain in my neck since I’ve met you.”

She laughed, and immediately he smiled. Her pleasing voice said, "That can't mean you’re falling in love with me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

Jaime’s smile froze and melted all at once. "What would you do if I said I am?" _Hypothetical, this is all hypothetical._

A pause fell between them. Her voice, seemingly tiny, asked, “I would ask you more questions.”

“Like what?” Jaime leaned his back against the couch and stared through the glass ceiling. Wine’s warmth seeped into his stomach, slowing his breathing just enough for him to notice his heart magnifying.

“Do you smoke?” she asked.

“No.”

“What are your turn offs?”

“Typical things,” he said, refusing to frown. “Cheating. Laziness. No sense of humor.”

“What do you want in a wife?”

Jaime let out a sigh and closed his eyes, imagining a silhouette of a woman. “Someone I can connect with, talk to. Responsible. Loyal. Ambitious.” He took a moment to inhale and flashes of his father and sister entered his mind. Whoever he would marry needed to handle such a vicious group of thieves. He cleared his throat and said, “Someone strong. Someone brave.”

A single hum of Brienne’s voice acknowledged him before she said, “I don’t smoke. I dislike lying, disrespect and gym selfies.”

Blinking, Jaime looked at the screen and let out a single laugh. “Taking gym selfies was my backup career—what a shame.”

“In a husband,” she said with humor in her voice, “I want…” her voice turned serious, “someone independent and honest. Above all I want someone who loves me.” 

_Why wouldn’t your husband love you?_ Jaime’s heavy eyes fell and stared at the base of the blue screen, where it met fuzzy fibers of red carpet. Of all the things to want in a husband, her choices sounded simple—too simple. He knew she held something back, but he had yet to figure out _what_ she held back. 

“What’s your biggest fear?” she asked. “Dying?”

“No, I’ve accepted that fact long ago. Worst case scenario for every ID doc is a horrible pandemic…” Jaime winced once, knowing such events were unavoidable. Humans craved social interaction and bacteria, viruses, fungi and the like appreciated free rides. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he said, “Beyond that, losing the love of my life.”

“But you don’t have one, you’re single,” she said, and he swore he could hear her voice smile.

“I do,” he countered, leaning forward. “And she’s somewhere. Hopefully here.” His eyes looked around the pod. _Maybe she’s you._ A brief smile covered his lips, soon disappearing as soon as his brain demanded a yawn. If he wasn’t so damn tired, he might have whistled a song.

“How will you know?”

“I’ll hear her. A voice sounding like honey and tasting like R&B.” Jaime closed his lips and shook his head, smiling. If his face hadn’t already reddened lightly from the day’s drinks, he might have blushed. “I don’t usually open up like this,” he said.

“You just did,” Brienne said. “And you’re a romantic.”

Again, her diagnosing made him raise his brows. Out of all of his philosophies, love was his most idealistic, and it might have explained his lack of marriages or partners. Sure, he had a couple of girlfriends throughout his life and many, many opportunities. Only one woman managed to steal and crush his heart. After falling for her in college, he knew first hand how sappy he could be: star gazing, fire cuddling, sunset watching nonsense. They dated for eight years, but she screamed and ran away the moment she saw his student loan debt and career choice. She pulled her hair out the moment she realized Tywin wouldn’t foot the bill and Jaime wasn’t destined to become the world’s best plastic surgeon.

Clearing his throat, he said, “And loads of the guys think you have the hottest voice. Melisandre is a close tie.”

“I hate to have to disappoint you, but she is...”

“She is what? I’ve heard both of you. She puts me to sleep, you don’t.”

“You haven’t seen either of us.”

“Tell me what you’re so insecure about,” Jaime said. His own yearning desire to learn more about Brienne saved him from another yawn.

“My height,” she said, growing quieter, “my chest... I could go on…”

“You’re tall, I already knew that,” Jaime frowned. “Almost every woman is insecure about her breasts. It doesn’t matter if you have none or you’re obese with enough chest for three women, believe me, there’s a man out there who’s interested.”

“I—they’re small. In case you’re wondering, or if you care.”

Jaime shrugged. _Do I?_ In a way, it didn’t matter. He truly felt he did not choose whomever he loved. “I certainly don’t care as much as you care about me being tall.”

Immediately, her voice became defensive, “I only asked because a lot of men have problems with a taller woman.”

“I get it,” Jaime said, giving the blue screen a smile. Her outburst amused him. “Are we talking hitting-shower-head tall?” Closing his eyes, he imagined long legs. His eyelids closed harder while his brain flashed through almost every skin tone imaginable. 

“Yes, definitely. So many problems. Legs too long for plane rides. Everyone thinks I play volleyball or basketball. Short shorts fit like underwear.”

“Wait,” Jaime said, opening his eyes, smirking. “Do they look like underwear? This sounds like a win-win. You’re supposed to go over problems, not bonuses. Why even buy underwear?”

“I—” she stumbled, laughing. 

Jaime joined in the laughter. “I don’t care if you’re taller than me, prettier than me, smarter—”

“I am not more beautiful—” 

“I have a nice voice, I know,” he said while hearing her scoff. “And I’ve been called handsome once or twice, but your voice makes mine run for its money.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much more running beyond my voice and long legs.”

Frowning, he leaned his shoulders against the back of the couch. “Why do you think you’re not beautiful?”

“I know I’m not beautiful,” Brienne said.

Jaime frowned harder. “Do you have a gorgeous, competitive mother always comparing you?” For a moment, he felt like the psychiatrist more than her.

“N—no.” She paused. “My mother died when I was very young.”

Closing his eyes, a pit gnawed its way into his insides. “I’m sorry to hear that. My mother died when I was young, too.” He barely remembered her: blonde hair and beautiful eyes. Jaime regretted not knowing her more, and he felt himself sneering at the thought of anyone with their mother still alive and healthy. _All I wanted was for her to be proud of me._

“Jaime,” she said, voice cracking, yet soft. “I’m sorry. Do you… want to talk about something else?”

Blinking his eyes open, Jaime gazed at the blue screen in front of him. “Yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “It’s getting late.” Although, with no phone or watches, he had no concept of time. Like a full breath of air, it relieved him. “When can I talk to you tomorrow?” he asked, his octave reaching lower than normal. He wasn’t sure why, but the idea of her rejecting him made him hold his own arm—as if an animated furby toy from his childhood might lash out and he needed to protect himself.

“I’ll… put you first for the day. After breakfast?”

Jaime stood and walked closer to the blue screen, imagining himself _somehow_ getting closer to her. He grimaced at the thought of her meeting or talking with another man, but he didn’t want to come off too strong. Now that he _liked_ this woman, he over-analyzed every quip and joke coming to his mind. “Deal. I’ll bring in tea tomorrow. Do you sweeten your tea?”

“No, not usually,” she said, voice getting more innocent and quiet by the vowel. His mouth dried and hands flexed.

“I’ll have you sweeten mine. Goodnight, Brienne,” he said, but he continued to stand in front of the blue screen—mere feet away from her.

“Wait, how am I—”

“Don’t worry,” Jaime said, feeling wings sprout throughout his heart. “Just use your voice. It’s as sweet as honey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else freaking out about them meeting in person? I'm writing this dang thing and I'M freaking out.


	5. Brienne

With every passing hour, Brienne grew more unsure how she would survive such an experiment. It was day six, in the morning, and she began her day with her daily caffeinated “date” with Jaime. Jaime Lannister. She liked his name, once he revealed it. Not that it would ever be hers. 

Waiting in her pod, she looked over a paper cup filled with coffee and cream on the table in front of her. Blue lights from the pod’s screen waved over the beige, vanilla flavored drink. Jaime had asked how bad the coffee was on the women’s side, so Brienne indulged to tell him—but he needed to show up.

Brienne cuddled herself in her pjs and brought her knees to her chest, hugging them closer while she contemplated how fast time flew. She had met with almost every man again to see if there were any missed sparks or misunderstandings. If she found a sliver of connection with Jaime, which she had, maybe a few other men might qualify. Alas, no voice lingered in her head more than Jaime’s. She daydreamed about making him laugh, which happened a few times, but above all, he grew on her. 

She spent hours every day talking with different people, and energy drained out of Brienne like a water balloon with a pinhole in it. Sansa fell head over heels with Theon, and she expected him to propose soon. Oberyn talked with Brienne about travel, mental health and Ellaria. Little did he know, Ellaria was already planning their wedding. Sam, the poor guy, met with Brienne and opened up about his weight. Nothing scared him more than Gilly running away from the sight of him. Brienne knew exactly how he felt: trembling, breath-stealing fear.

Brienne toyed with a drawstring on her fleece pants and smiled at the thought of Jaime. She wanted to find love and find someone who loved her—all while not embarrassing herself on this ridiculous show she now half-regretted participating in. She put her patient’s well being on hold for her own and regret continued slipping into her mind. The best antidote was Jaime, with his rough, sour exterior. He inclined Brienne to learn more about him by the day.

Neither of them were religious and both of them had one long term relationship. Hookups weren’t their thing. He spent most of his free time with his brother, either bar hopping or playing board games. Despite being an infectious disease specialist, he loved his dog and rescued her from the pound. She was a mutt. Brienne couldn’t help but think about herself. They disagreed about favorite and least-favorite ice cream flavors: he liked chocolate and hated she favored strawberry. When asked about her comfort food of choice, she said a full glass of water first, followed by something sweet. He preferred fish and chips, coffee and beer. Of course, she preferred tea and wine. He sounded very excited she ate gluten. Favorite TV shows and movies came up, but Brienne imagined a nightmare when he said his ideal date would be drinking and singing karaoke. Nope. Ten years into the future, he wanted to be married and maybe with kids—he didn’t mind life with or without children. Oddly, she agreed with him. Both of their proudest accomplishments were matching with their preferred career. He asked about her biggest change from when she attended school, and she said she improved her shyness. He said he grew more ornery. She believed him.

The door behind her opened, and Selena brought in a plate of cheesy omelette and hashbrowns. With a smile, Brienne accepted the plate and offered her thanks. Producers offered to provide requests, when available. Food, board games—almost nothing was off limits—except phones, computers or any other way to research their partners from the other side of the pods. While they were allowed to ask each other about one another, Brienne refrained herself from temptation. 

From inside the pod across from her, someone entered and utensils struck against a plate. “Morning, Brienne,” Jaime said. She smiled.

His mature voice either joked, flirted or someone slipped something into her drinks to make her into a swooning, teenaged girl. He wasn’t _that_ much older than her—he said he was 36. She found herself imagining his whisky-smooth voice before she fell asleep at night. He relaxed her as well as diazepam soothed a patient.

“Did you get your omelette?” He asked. “Mine’s cheesier than asking you to feel my shirt because it’s boyfriend material.”

“Wow,” Brienne said, sneering and shaking her head with a smile.

“I mean husband material,” he corrected himself.

“Did you practice that overnight? Yes, I got my omelette, but it’s not nearly as cheesy as you.”

“Mmm, cheese. You put it best, I’m romantic, not cheesy. You like romance. How do you like the coffee?”

Brienne looked at the cup and said, “Hold on.” Jaime remained quiet, for once, and she set down her plate to sip her coffee. Bitter tasting cream danced around her tongue. “It tastes—”

“Burned?”

“...like coffee.” She smirked and set the drink down. She preferred tea.

“Just wait till you try the coffee I make, it’s smooth. A balance of acidity, sweetness and aromatics rolling over your tongue. Zero off notes. Silky body—not too thin, not too thick. Once you’ve had a taste of it, it ruins everything else.”

By that point, Brienne’s face glazed over into a full blush. _He’s talking about coffee._

“Brienne?” 

Snapping out of her head, she said, “Yes?”

“I was afraid I lost you.”

“No,” she said, feeling her neck radiate nervous heat. “I’m right here.”

“Good. I’ll let you pick the topics for today. Don’t drink that coffee too quickly or you’ll have to end our talk early and I—” he paused and cleared his throat. “This omelette’s pretty good.”

Brienne gave a small smile. There was a time she interpreted his rambles as too much stimulation or even grandiosity, but in truth, he was just an old fashioned extrovert. At least he didn’t have mania—because those patients were nearly impossible to redirect or converse with. She’d never forget an analogy from one of her recurring patients. _Mania is like stepping into a plane and thinking you can fly without training. But your mind is so fucked up, you can’t change a baby’s diaper._ Brienne cleared her throat. “Okay, let me think,” she said, licking her lips and gazing at the blue screen.

Remembering yesterday’s conversation, they both admitted to having a singular, long term relationship. She had already divulged her family history: brooding father with several partners, a brother who passed away when she was young, and of course, what little she knew about her mother. Their mothers were Jaime and Brienne’s strongest anchoring point. It was as serious as their conversations became, and yet, he did not talk about any other family member. She craved more relation with him.

“You said you have brothers and sisters, right?” She asked.

“Yes, one sister, one brother. My brother’s a few years younger than me. He actually married similarly to this. He was fresh out of school, met this woman, fell in love and married her right away. They’re still together and it’s been years now.”

 _Similarly to this. Are we…?_ “That’s awesome. What about your sister?” She reached for the omelette.

He took longer to respond than Brienne expected. “Sorry, I was eating,” he said. “My sister… she’s my twin, actually. She and my brother work with dad now, and he—” he paused again. “He runs a company.”

Brienne nodded and swallowed another bite. “You didn’t want to work for him?” 

“My calling is ID. My siblings wanted to work for my dad even if they ignored their own callings.”

“And what would those be?” Brienne found it interesting only Jaime moved against the grain. He was brave, she knew, but it sounded like he held something back.

“I always pictured Tyrion, my brother, as a professor or scholar. He still is, in a way. Cersei… she was a model before, but she smiled more. I guess that was part of the job.”

A model. Brienne broadened her shoulders and pressed her lips together. _That means she’s beautiful._ A sudden loss of appetite led her to set down her plate. _Does that mean he’s attractive?_ Brienne hoped not. She convinced herself a handsome man would run away at the sight of her. “She liked being a model?” Brienne asked, wishing her voice didn’t sound like the quivering little girl she felt like on the inside.

“She liked making money, the amphetamines, the fame. I’m guessing you’re tall enough. Ever dabble in modeling?” 

“I told you—I’m—”

“You haven’t really told me anything about how you look, other than you’re tall and you don’t have implants.”

“I’m not beautiful,” Brienne said, staring at the blue screen—even the damn blue light was prettier than _her._ She never thought of herself as pretty… due to a condescending step-mother, a few wicked teenaged boys and patients without a filters reminding her. Kindness from those who were supposed to love her hurt her the most. These days, their words echoed in her mind. At the very least, she knew her value did not derive from looks or attractiveness. She knew she was worthy and worthy of love—but would someone even dare to _truly_ love her—that terrifying question lingered in Brienne’s mind. 

Jaime cleared his throat. “Are you one of those people who say they’re not beautiful so that when I do see you, I’m impressed? Why do you say these things?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and held her breath for a moment. She grimaced and asked, “You’d prefer me to lie?”

“No, I’d prefer you to love yourself.”

“I do,” she said, shaking her head. _I do._

“Why do you think you’re not beautiful?” He asked, and by the time Brienne opened her mouth to answer him, he said, “Don’t say because you just know. I want to know your experiences, your troubles—what _happened_ to you?” 

Brienne didn’t want to talk about it. Her deepest fears, public humiliation and lack of love crept out like a tiger through long grass, cornering her in this once safe space. Her heart tumbled. Gripping a handful of soft fleece in her fist from her pajama bottoms, she said, “People.”

“People,” he said, scoffing once. His voice went from empathetic to merciless in an instant. “Jimmy, whoever, make sure to cut these parts out. Was it your ex-boyfriend?”

Saturating in a blush, Brienne caved in on herself and pulled her knees up to her chest in a tight hug. Her ex loved to make fun of her forehead and nose, in particular. The fact alone she had one boyfriend throughout her life should have said enough to Jaime. Then again, Jaime said he only had one girlfriend—maybe he struggled with his looks as much as her. _No._ Brienne remembered a time Jaime said he had been called handsome once or twice. _Is he lying? It doesn’t matter._ She winced. _It does matter. If he’s attractive, he’ll be mocked for dating me—marrying me. That’ll never happen._

“People are cruel,” he said, bringing her out of her thoughts. Her eyes gazed at the blue screen, wanting so desperately to latch onto this man she could not _see._ Instead, her ears heard him say, “I know because I’ve lived with them. My father is one of the most ruthless people you will ever meet, if you meet him. Moral compass low and pockets full, he only listens to himself. He took a company worth $12 billion and turned it into $410 billion in twenty years. To this day, he still doesn’t smile. I hate telling people who he is because I know people love marrying into a rich family—”

“I—Jaime—”

“But I know you’re different. I know you don’t give a shit. Even if you did, it doesn’t matter. I paid for my own college, my own house—all of it. And still, my father insists on manipulating my life as much as he can.”

Brienne bent her head lower, resting the tip of her nose on the knee of her long leg—feeling small. She thought _her_ father was a trip, but after hearing about Jaime’s father, loneliness surrounded her. If this man was as described, he sounded like a potential for antisocial personality disorder. People suffering from it typically ended up floating to the top of companies or ending up in prison. She dealt with patients with ASPD, but the idea of being raised with such a man made her lips quiver for Jaime. 

“And my sister,” Jaime said with venom. “She is my father incarnate, although half as cunning. She doesn’t understand the meaning of boundaries and loves to wiggle her way into my life like a parasite. I’m only close with my brother—he’s the only one who doesn’t have to pretend to love me.”

Rain sprouted inside her while her fingers trembled. Above a whisper, she said, “That scares me the most.”

“My father and sister? I don’t blame you.”

Shaking her head, Brienne grew more quiet. “No. Not being loved.”

She expected him to laugh, scoff or ramble. Instead, he was quiet—he was never quiet. Breathing faster, Brienne lifted herself off of the couch and paced around the room. On the left side of the pod, the camera angle followed her as she walked. _This is a mistake. Why am I even here?_

Voice deep, and slower than normal, Jaime asked, “But you won’t tell me why it scares you?”

Brienne stopped. It was as if her brain forgot how to speak. She stood behind the couch—tall, awkward and ugly—in ratty pajamas the entire country was sure to laugh at. Closing her eyes, she tempted herself to run through the door and out of this experiment. She regretted giving her fear a voice because she had never felt so vulnerable before in her entire life. 

“Death doesn’t scare me,” Jaime said. “Love doesn’t scare me, I think. Powerful pathogens scare me. They’re invisible to the naked eye, yet they affect all of us. I always expected flu to gain some ridiculous mutation and wipe out a chunk of us like it did in the past. But now I know to expect the unexpected. I learned that first hand.”

Brienne squinted her eyes towards the screen, listening to him.

“Not long after I finished my residency, I went to Sothoryos to volunteer with a new outbreak of Ebola. They needed doctors, nurses, anyone who could do something—anything. I had the snazziest space suit you can imagine,” Jaime’s voice turned lighter for a moment, as if it was a fond memory. “I hated not being able to talk to the patient. If they got better, they would sometimes see me in the safe area outside of the tents. They were always surprised how young I was. I was only supposed to be there for three months. I watched my colleagues get sick. I watched half of them die. One month in, I got a fever.”

Freezing, Brienne held her own breath. Only when her lungs felt like caving in did she breathe, and she placed her hands on the back cushion of the couch—gripping and digging her fingernails into the fabric. He trusted her enough to open up about this...

“I really, really wanted it to be malaria,” he said with a laugh. “The damn space suit wasn’t so snazzy after all.” Turning more serious, Jaime continued, “I tested positive for Ebola. I was clear headed at first, but within the first week, I was confused. They shipped me back home for treatment, and you’re smart enough to know it’s only supportive care. Treatment sounds like you have hope, supportive care is as promising as a teenager with a curfew. Helicopters buzzed around me as I walked into the hospital—and some jackass decided to make my name and face public. Everyone hated me for bringing back that virus, even though it was never my idea. I’d rather die saving lives in Sothoryos than croak alone in a bed while my father and sister yell at me.”

Brienne’s eyes welled and focused on the floor. She felt horrible for confronting him about his fear of rejection days ago. He had every right to fear it, as anyone did, but Jaime experienced denial in traumatic ways. His father and sister sounded horrible, and she knew how mental disease and media infected one’s mind. She called him contentious, vulgar, cowardly and insincere on the first day, and by now—day six—his behavior made sense. He had to be aggressive to survive, and an offensive nature was probably bred into him by his family. His dishonest humor was a shield and his tongue was a sword. Brienne was wrong about him being a coward—as he might have been braver than her. Hearing her own thoughts, her heart began to cry. 

Jaime said, “In case you’re not scared away already—”

“I am not,” she said, sounding more stern than she intended. _I’m amazed by you._

“I’m one of the lucky ones. Not only did I survive, but I made it out with little to no lasting symptoms. No viral load, no trace of it in me. Although, if I ever say something stupid—it doesn’t happen often—you’ll know what I blame it on.”

Brienne blinked and licked her lips, able to hold back tears from falling onto her cheeks. She had no idea what this man looked like, but she’d seen all of him. In a singular moment, she closed her eyes and imagined the rest of her life with this man. Doubting he’d ever keep quiet, Brienne smiled at the thought of her never being lonely again.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

“You do?” She asked, raising her eyes to gaze at the screen. Wondering how to thank or hug a man for sacrificing his health and life for the greater good—Brienne smiled. Her fingers lifted off of the couch in front of her and her entire body felt like it was floating. She knew this feeling. A feeling so high she couldn’t deny it. It was love.

After a sigh, Jaime said, “Impotence is _not_ an issue. I can still get it up.”

Bursting out into laughter, Brienne smiled, blushed and shook her head. She knew this was love—because similar statements would have never caused such a reaction. She was like a horse galloping in a pasture. Somehow, Jaime unwound her, and as her snickering died down, she heard smiles and joy in his tone.

“That’s better than running away screaming, I suppose. Thank you for listening,” he said.

“Of course, Jaime.” Brienne grinned, his name coiling inside her. _I love him._ She blushed. 

“Can you say my name again?”

Lips twisting and smiling, she closed her eyes and inhaled. “Jaime.”

She heard him sigh, and she knew the speakers did not do his velvet nature justice. Brienne found love—but did love find her? A timid voice in the back of her head wanted to tell him her feelings, or ask him about his. Young, awkward Brienne kept her thoughts to herself. In truth, rejection scared her as well.

“Please don’t tell me I have to wait until tomorrow morning to talk to you again,” he said.

Swallowing her lump of fear, Brienne shook her head. His request brought hope and she smiled. “We can talk as long as you want,” she said. Stifling a blush, she wanted to make the most of her time with him.


	6. Jaime

With hoppy beers in hand, Oberyn, Theon, Grey, Drogo and Arys huddled around in a group in the common area. They had already proposed and had even met their fiances already—in person—appearing like some exclusive club. Jaime glanced at his amber colored bottle, wondering how many yeast cells fermented his beer.

“I don’t know why I waited so long. She’s beautiful. I can’t wait to spend time with her,” Theon said.

Grey smiled and nodded, likely thinking of his fiance, Missandei. He had been the first of the ten men to propose on day five: four days ago. Due to being the first engaged couple, Grey explained the process. Producers asked everyone to let them know about proposals ahead of time, due to camera angles and filming. If, and only if, the woman accepted the proposal, the couple would get to see each other for the very first time at a ceremony-like reveal. Grey said he only remembered Missandei—nothing else about the experience. They only had a few minutes with each other before they were separated again, and now they waited for the trip to the Summer Isles vacation.

“I’m nervous,” Sam said, standing beside Jaime near the pool table. The young man wore a blue button up shirt and suit jacket—which meant he was going to propose. Producers encouraged them to wear their best outfits during the proposal. Their partners did not see their suits during proposals, but millions of drooling men and women at home soon would. Jaime glanced down at his own outfit: a dusty yellow button-up shirt and casual jeans.

“You look better than me,” Jaime said, and Sam offered a reddening smile. Sam looked as nervous as internist residents on their first day, but the man was nice and whole-hearted. Jaime appreciated the whole-hearted part. Jaime said, “Good luck. I’m sure she’ll say yes.” 

Grin fading, Jaime wondered if he was as lucky as Sam, or the other newly engaged men. He liked Brienne the most, and yes, he felt a strong connection—but how in the world could she like him? Without his looks to swoon her, there was nearly no way to seduce such an independent and strong woman. They continued to talk non-stop for three days about dreams and stories in life, but Jaime feared her rejection more than anything at the moment. He assumed his feelings were one sided.

Hyle and Ron walked over with their metal glasses of wine, looking like a couple of pooping pigeons. Jaime clenched his left hand into a quick first while his other raised the beer to his lips, hiding a growing grimace as they approached. Neither of them were anywhere close to proposing, which failed to surprise Jaime. They spent their last days enjoying the free food and beer, because they knew they had no chance.

“I think these two are the only ones with real dates left,” Hyle said, motioning to Sam and Jaime. A large majority of the men made their emotions and intentions clear. All of them wanted to find love, but connections never found Hyle, Ron or Edric. Over the past few days, they started talking with each other more than women.

“I think I may throw up,” Sam said, looking paler by the second.

“You’re not dressed to propose. Can’t say I don’t know why,” Ron said towards Jaime with a smirk.

Jaime winced and tilted his head to the side. His fingers tapped a few times on the beer bottle while his eyes looked down on both Hyle and Ron. Several insults crossed Jaime’s mind, but cameras pointed towards them.

“Why?” Jaime said, forcing a small smile. “Are you going to propose to Brienne? I’m afraid I haven’t heard her mention you.” He wanted to be more clever, but burning Ron into a radioactive crisp in front of the cameras might have been too cruel. He raised his eyebrow at Ron.

“Nah,” Ron said, scoffing, “she stopped talking to me days ago. So I asked Arianne what she looked like—what they all looked like. Brienne’s the ugliest of the bunch. Brienne the Beauty.” 

Jaw clenching, Jaime stepped closer towards Ron, forcing the little rat to look through his sour eyebrows. 

“That’s really—not very nice,” Sam said, eyes dancing between the pair of them and an approaching camera.

Jaime wanted to punch Ron right in his soulless face. Cameras came closer, representing up to millions of eyes. Instead of glowering, Jaime smirked. He hated this experiment—because he was pretty sure it worked, at least for him. He considered going to producers, as if they could help in some way. Ending the experiment himself might save everyone loads of trouble, but the thought of not saying goodbye to Brienne made his throat tighten. From the base of his stomach, bubbles and gas sprouted. Jaime let out a yeast-filled burp wash over Ron’s face. While Ron winced and twisted his mouth, Jaime said, “Oops.”

“Sam, Gilly’s ready,” Jimmy said from the pod area.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—I’ve only practiced five times.” Sam shook his head, now turning pink.

“Good luck, man,” Hyle said and Ron nodded in silence.

Turned towards Jimmy while Sam walked towards the pods, Jaime asked, “Hey, Jimmy, can you see if Brienne is available now?” 

“Yeah, of course.”

As soon as Sam finished filming his pre-proposal walk in the hallway, Jimmy ushered Jaime into pod two for another date with Brienne. In a pod he wasn’t used to, Jaime stepped over towards the cart and plopped a few tart lemon drops into his mouth. The couch still had a few comfy pillows and soon enough, he heard Brienne’s soothing voice from the pod across from his.

“Hi, Jaime. New pod, huh?”

Jaime sat on the couch and leaned his feet on the small coffee table. In an instant, Ron’s comments washed away from his mind and he felt whole again. “Sam and Gilly are in pod one. He’s proposing. I should have given him a pat on the ass for goodluck.”

“I hope she accepts. If she wants to, of course. It sounds like she genuinely likes him. Maybe even love.”

Jaime smiled before he even started his joke. “Love isn’t like tuberculosis, it doesn’t last forever.”

“Gods,” she said, sounding like she smiled. He imagined a woman covering her face, but when he tried to grasp details, his mind drew blanks. “Have you seen many cases?” she asked.

“Of course, it happens here. Just be thankful we don’t have much resistance in this part of the world—yet. TB can be common, other bugs, not so much. What really bakes my potato is figuring out the bug before the cultures pop positive.”

“You like rare cases, don’t you?”

“Of course. Birders have it far easier. Ten thousand species—boring. There’s a dozen _Rickettsia_ alone infecting humans and I’ve seen fewer cases than I have fingers,” Jaime said, lengthening his arms along the top of the back cushions and tapping his fingers.

“Fewer than ten?”

“Nah, fewer than twelve. I have eight on my left hand and four on my right hand—don’t ask.”

Brienne laughed and the sound turned muted, as if she covered it with her hands. He smiled. He fucking loved her laugh.

She said, “You’re quite the jokester today.”

Jaime pursed his lips out for a moment, smirking. “I recently had a patient with tick exposure and weird symptoms, and I hope the culture comes back positive with my guess. Knowing my luck, I’ll get the results when I retire.”

“That’s a long time,” she said, chuckling lightly. He enjoyed that version of laughter, too. He wanted to keep going, keep making her laugh, keep hearing her voice smiling. She continued, “This whole thing is rather quick, right? Ten days and you either have it or you don’t. I’m glad a few of us matched partners.”

_Shit._ Brienne had a natural talent for turning light topics more serious. She discussed more than enough patient cases to write a book—and over the course of days, he recognized she was damn good at her job. She helped people in similar ways to him, just in a different method. 

“We’ll see how many of them last,” Jaime said, not wanting to think about a topic as heavy as love. If he felt comfortable enough to tell Brienne anything, even about his sickness, he knew he felt comfortable enough to do anything with her. But such a realization scared him. If he proposed, and she accepted, his father and sister were going to hate this woman because she wasn’t from a rich family. The icing on the cake was that Jaime knew Brienne wouldn’t put up with his family’s bullshit, but then, they’d hate her even more... 

“Oh come on, you don’t think they will?” Brienne asked.

“I’ll go to hell for that, won’t I?” Jaime gripped the couch underneath his hands, suddenly feeling nervous. “When I die and go to the hell so many have promised me, it will not be fire. It will be cold. I will be naked. And wet. With wind slapping me in the face. In Kidzania. And they will be playing country music.”

“I think some will,” she said after laughing once. Her redirects were on point. 

Jaime winced. “Some will go to hell? Of course. You should join us. Or you mean some couples will make it? Who do you think won’t make it? I’ll place my money where you want it.”

“Nothing against them, and I hope they cut this part out, but Arys and Arianne. She seems to like him for…”

“Shallow reasons? Believe me, I’ve heard.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “She told Ron what all of the women look like.” _Shit._ He didn’t mean to reveal that part. Jaime winced and brought his right hand to rub the tension between his brows. 

“Did she…” Brienne trailed off.

Jaime’s legs twitched and jittered, so he walked over to the cart on the side of the pod. He filled a metal wine glass with water to the brim, took a sip of cool water and set the drink down. His hand left marks of dewy sweat on the metal. _Sweat is all you can eat buffet for bacteria._

“You’ve only asked what I’m insecure about, not how I look,” she said.

“Well, you haven’t asked about how I look—other than how tall I am,” Jaime said, managing a smirk. The sound of his heart bleating like a goat reminded him of the nerve-wracking mistake. He knew she hated talking about her appearance.

“Because I don’t care.”

Jaime closed his eyes and stood still, fingers wrapping tightly around his metal wine glass. He once wondered why they had metal wine glasses, but he figured it out. It hid drinks from cameras. Audiences would have no idea if he drank wine, whisky or water. “I only care why,” he said. “Why do my looks not matter? Why do your looks matter?”

“Looks always matter to most people,” she said, voice somber. “I’m tall. Pale. I don’t have graceful legs. I’m awkward. My face—so many people instantly swipe left because of my face.” She paused. “My step-mother caught me playing with her makeup once as a kid… I tried covering up my freckles with powder and it never worked. Her brown eyebrow pencil stood out like a sore thumb against my brows. I looked like a raccoon, I knew it, but... She made me look at myself in the mirror and said makeup wouldn’t help me, even if I knew how to use it.” Brienne’s voice grew quieter. “She said even the finest makeup couldn’t make someone love me because of how I looked. Even though she’s long been kicked out of my life, I’m half-convinced she’s right. My ex said he wished I had been abused so I would realize how great he was. My patients consistently comment on my height, mannerisms or call me a freak—and still, I can’t help but protect them. I can handle assholes. People like Ron don’t love me. But when someone is nice, and I let my guard down… With love…”

Jaime scowled, clenching fingers tighter against metal. If it were true glass, it would have already been shards of metal, or glass—whatever the damn material was. She reminded him of Tyrion. Jaime’s brother didn’t like being lied to, and it made him feel worse if Jaime said he looked taller than he really was. Tyrion disliked being labeled handsome for the same reason: he was convinced he was ugly. Jaime’s brother also hated pity because it gave his body a voice in a world where Tyrion would rather be judged on his character and intelligence. Jaime didn't know what to say to her.

Brienne continued, “With you…”

“What about me? You haven’t even seen me,” Jaime said, tone darker than he wanted it to sound. He had been an asshole to her, more than any others, and she continued to talk with him. He frowned and wanted to know _why._ She had nearly no good reason to like him, whereas she had many reasons to hate him. “Why do you like me?” 

“You’re a man of your word, even if you joke with every breath. I can tell you’re at least starting to like me,” she said, Jaime smirked and sneered towards the blue screen. She continued, “You’re more serious now. You’re not the kind of person to take things seriously unless they mean something to you. I like that you work a lot, it means you’re driven and self-assured. You didn’t run when I said what I did for a living and, I guess you didn’t run when Ron said... whatever he said…” she trailed off again.

Jaime let out a small sigh and closed his eyes. If he had any walls remaining, they melted like ice under hot water.

“You’re not aloof either, you notice so many details,” she said. “You don’t just talk about doing things, you do them. Who else travels halfway around the world to fight an Ebola outbreak? And you wanted to stay even when you got sick? I don’t think I’ve met anyone so willing to sacrifice themselves to better the world. You’re a hero.”

Losing his smirk, Jaime narrowed his gaze towards the blue screen—dumbfounded. _She thinks I’m a hero?_

Brienne continued, “Most of all, you do the right thing. I’ve... never fallen this hard this fast. I came on this show to prove myself wrong, and I hoped love is possible. Someone, somewhere, could like me for me—not my job or for some joke. I’ve been vulnerable around you, I’ve never been this vulnerable around anyone like this, and… I trust you.”

Setting down the wine glass on the cart, waves of nerves buzzed throughout his body. He was shaking. No one knew him as well as her—and they only met nine days ago. No one else knew his deepest fears, what he wanted in life or what his motivations were. When he revealed the darkest parts about him, she spoke softer and sweeter. And even though she didn’t directly say she loved him, she was right, Jaime noticed details. She said she fell for him.

“Brienne,” Jaime said, closing his eyes. In his mind, he lived in the future, imagining his father, Cersei and Tyrion meeting this tall, unknown woman named Brienne. He knew his father and sister would hate her—but he no longer cared. _I don’t just talk about doing things, I do them._

Clearing his throat, Jaime stepped closer to the blue screen and squinted—as if he could see her or touch her. “I’ve never talked with anyone, not even family, about things we’ve discussed. You’re strong, likely stronger than me. You’re braver than you think you are. Determined. You say you trust me? I trust you more. I’ve never met anyone with such pure morals, it’s like I’ve been living in smog and you’re a full breath of fresh air. I don’t give a shit what you look like, I’ve already seen you. I’ve seen what counts. I came on this show to find blind love. Your step mother is wrong,” he said. “I love you.”

“I—Jaime—” 

“I don’t have a ring with me,” Jaime said, shaking his head and letting out a trembling sigh. “I haven’t even told them I want to do this, but now is a better time as any. Let’s do this. Let’s make this work. Will you marry me?”

From the right side of his pod, a male voice behind the camera whispered, “What?”

Jaime glared to his right and towards the camera in the wall. He had forgotten about their presence, or the fact each camera had another soul peeking through its lens. The nameless person shuffled around behind the wall and whispered again. “Sorry—keep going.” 

“Are—” Brienne’s voice stumbled. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I don’t make rash decisions, pun intended,” he said, holding his breath. _Are infectious disease puns too much?_ She still hadn’t answered him...

Nervous giggles flooded his room and Jaime smiled while he reached out for the blue screen with his right hand. It was the first time he touched it, and it felt warmer than he expected. Brienne’s voice trembled as she said, “Gods.” Her words muffled as if her hands were over her mouth. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Not much will happen at all if you don’t answer me,” Jaime said, grinning, though his heart threatened to burst—as if he was going to kiss for the very first time and she might turn away. 

“Yes,” Brienne said, “I will. Sorry, I’m just so caught off guard.” He couldn’t tell if her voice was trembling from fear or giggling. He understood if she was scared, but he knew her well enough to know she did not lie. If she said yes, she meant it.

Closing his eyes and smiling, Jaime breathed. She didn’t reject him—even after hearing the worst parts about him and without seeing him at his best. _How could I not love this woman?_ Her looks did not matter. Her words and behavior meant everything. He asked, “Did the woman or man behind your camera have a seizure like mine did?”

“I heard a large thud. You didn’t plan this, did you?”

“You know me well enough to know that answer. To be honest, I’m—relieved. You get to meet my dog.” Jaime smiled, followed by a quick wince, “my family… I get to meet your father. You still think he’d scare me?”

Brienne laughed with joy and said, “I know almost nothing scares you, so no.”

“I get to make you coffee, or tea, and I’ll make sure they serve white wine at our wedding—even though reds are better,” Jaime smiled and closed his eyes, imagining a wedding. They had talked about it before, although Brienne planned and fantasized about it much more than Jaime. “I forgot to ask you, what flavor cake do you want?”

“Something traditional. White, vanilla or chocolate.”

“If you said carrot, I would have walked out of the room,” Jaime said, feeling like himself again to tease her. Gods, did he want to tease her.

“I’m surprised you don’t want a deep fried cake,” she said, voice sounding like love itself.

“Hold on, that sounds like the best thing you can do with your mouth in public.”

“Gods... I’m blushing right now.”

“You are?!” Like a shot of espresso, Jaime lit up and smiled. A tad calmer, he said, “I can’t wait to prove to you I’m _not_ a germaphobe.”

“Based on your food preferences, I assumed so,” she said while chuckling. 

He smiled, cheeks hurting from grinning. “Do you think we’ll meet today or tomorrow?” He wanted to meet her right then and there—maybe even rip down the screen and walls to reach her.

“Not sure, I guess we should ask Selena or Jimmy, huh?”

“I’ll ask right now,” Jaime said, smiling at the blue screen before he turned around and walked across the pod. It didn’t occur to him he had been walking away from his _fiance_ until he heard his name.

“Jaime?”

He stopped just before the exit. “Yeah?”

Brienne quieted and said, “I haven’t said it yet, but… I love you, too.”

Jaime’s fingers had already reached for the door, but he froze, closed his eyes and smiled. Words could not describe how amazing it felt to be truly loved for his own character—not for money or looks. He never wanted to forget this feeling. After letting out a breath, his teeth dragged into his smirking lip. “I already knew that,” he said, “but I love hearing you say it.” 

Only sounds helped him and her fall in love, and he hummed at the thought of seeing, smelling, tasting and _feeling_ her as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is probably the most nerve-wracking chapter I've ever written. I hope to have it up Sunday.


	7. Brienne

“I’m engaged to a man I’ve never seen before,” Brienne said to Sansa and Meera. They fussed over Brienne’s face with multiple makeup brushes in her trailer. BB creams could not hide the perpetual blush staining Brienne’s face and neck, like she had a severe case of facial flushing due to serotonin syndrome. Despite not taking any psych meds, she empathized with her patient’s anxiety in this moment. The interview directly after the proposal was shocking and rough—but meeting Jaime was another huge mountain to climb. 

“It’s not that bad once you meet him. Theon didn’t look quite how I expected—longer hair—but it doesn’t matter. I already know and love him,” Sansa said, offering a kind smile. She appeared calm—a trait Brienne wanted so badly her lips quivered.

“You both are one of the lucky ones,” Meera said, dabbing her brush into bronzer for Brienne’s cheeks. “I won’t put too much on your face, just a little for definition.”

Brienne nodded once. Sansa frowned towards Meera and asked, “You’re not upset love didn’t find you?”

Meera let out a sigh, shrugged and smiled while her hand flicked the bristles of the brush against Brienne’s cheek. It tickled. Pressing her twitching lips together, Brienne closed her eyes and heard nothing but her own drumming heart. She was about to meet Jaime. Jaime Lannister… Her fiance.

“I’d be more upset if I found a fake guy or didn’t love him. I’ve learned a lot from this experience. It’s meant to be and I couldn’t be happier,” Meera said.

“You’re in love with him, right, Brienne?” Sansa asked with a smirk, like she knew something Brienne didn’t.

Brienne furiously nodded right as Meera approached with another fresh dab of makeup. Brown powder made its way onto Brienne’s eye and both Meera and Sansa looked like two cringing spectators at a middle school talent show.

“It’s fine, I got you girl,” Meera said, dropping the look and reaching for a wipe.

Sansa went to work on the eyes, and Brienne wished she could focus on herself in the mirror and watch Sansa’s technique—but Brienne couldn’t think. In just a few minutes, she would meet a man she fell in love with, sight unseen. She didn’t care what he looked like, but the anticipation of his reaction weighed on her mind. Brienne ran her tongue over her teeth to try and calm herself down. 

“We’re going for the natural look here,” Sansa said, dusting Brienne’s eyelids. “Do you care how he looks?”

“Not at all,” Brienne said, “but I’m worried he—he won’t love me after he sees me.”

Both Meera and Sansa stopped working on Brienne’s face. They looked at each other and Sansa said, “That won’t happen. Have you… told him anything? Blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles—”

“Not everything. He knows I’m tall, flat chested, freckles and just about everything else of my life other than how I look. Unless he’s heard from the other guys…”

“You'll be fine. He fell in love with you. Didn’t he say I love you first?” Meera said, never losing her cheerful attitude.

Brienne blushed more. Revealing juicy details about their dates turned out to be a double edged sword. She still didn’t believe someone fell in love with her. It wasn’t possible. The pressures of cameras, families and her own heart made her want to run away and leave. Surely, she’d avoid all embarrassment if she just _left._

“Remind yourself why you came on this show,” Sansa said, stepping back and admiring Brienne’s face. She nodded and said, “You’re ready—look.”

Standing, Brienne’s eyes stared at half of her body in a portable door-hanging mirror—propped up against a corner in the trailer. A form-fitting blue dress covered her, and her reflection showed simple and plain, black flats. Her pale legs, freshly shaven, inched up to a hemline above her knees. The dress left little to the imagination and hugged her so well a belly pooch poked out on her lower stomach. _Great._ It might not have been _that_ noticeable, but her eyes focused on it. Lack of a smooth, six-pack-like abdomen was the least of her worries.

Sansa and Meera moved to the mirror and held it up so Brienne could view the other half of her own body. A deep v-line tried to show off what little chest she had. Delicate, sleeveless straps did not match her mood. Her face caught her attention first. More than simple makeup, she saw eyeshadow, mascara and bright red lips. Blonde hair, combed through like a pony, brushed against her shoulders. 

“I came on to fall in love. And not be lonely,” Brienne said.

A few knocks on the trailer door startled all three women. Sansa smirked and said, “That time starts now.” The door opened.

“Hi, Brienne! You look great! Come on, aren’t you excited!” Selena said, as happy as a kid on their name day.

Brienne crouched and exited the trailer, giving tight smiles to Sansa and Meera. If she never went through with this, she would never know the outcome. _What’s the worst that can happen?_ She needed to remain strong and push through for every scared person watching this show.

Selena led Brienne through new hallways and provided instructions. “Both of you will start in your own room. There’s water in there if you need it. Stand and face the sliding doors, even though it’s closed. We’ll be filming behind you and around you—just focus on you, not the cameras. You won’t be able to see anything through the doors and we’ll open them for you. When we open the doors, there’s a long red carpet and hallway. We’ll open Jaime’s door the same time we open yours, and you’ll both be able to see each other across the hallway. Then you can walk or run forward and meet! Do whatever reaction comes most natural. Couples have taken anywhere from five minutes to fifteen minutes, it’s all your preference. We’ll be filming all of it. The next time you’ll see him is in the Summer Isles. I see you have your mic on, try to keep it hidden in your strap. Any questions?”

_Can you repeat all of that, please?_ “No, I’m good.”

“Alright, Brienne, here is your room. Good luck,” Selena said, motioning towards an open door.

Brienne stepped inside, smiling. Only minutes away from meeting the love of her life, she nodded to the cameraman in the corner of the small room and he gave her a silent thumbs up. Everything was going to be fine. Now every cell in her body demanded to meet Jaime, and she couldn’t wait. They hadn’t spoken in almost a day, and Brienne’s fingertips grew cold and jittery.

Looking around, the room had several lamps, plants and pink walls. Safety, in the form of blue screens and pastel couches, no longer surrounded her. Instead, she stood in a random room with sounds of the cameraman breathing. Mouth running dry, Brienne looked for water, but the thought of her lips ruining anything made her pause. Cold, draft air did nothing to help her nerves, and goosebumps sprouted over every surface of exposed skin.

“Ready? He’s ready,” the cameraman asked Brienne while he listened to his earpiece.

Brienne swallowed air, lips twitching. _What does he look like?_ She nodded. _Will he like me?_ The cameraman motioned Brienne to stand in front of the closed opaque sliding door. _This door?_ Brienne followed instructions and stood in front of the large, oval-shaped door, its height tall enough for her to walk through it with her chin held high. But her fingers twisted within themselves and her teeth bit into the sides of her cheeks.

Deep breaths did little to calm her dizziness. _Just meet him. That’s it._ Brienne smiled. _He would laugh if he knew how much I’m freaking out._ Her eyes looked up and saw a regular ceiling, not the clear windows she grew accustomed to in the pods.

A large light illuminated Brienne’s back, shining her silhouette on the opaque door in front of her. She noticed more curves in her shape than she remembered. The crack between the two sliding doors remained closed, and Brienne knew when they opened, her life would change forever. Her hands clasped themselves tighter as the cameraman said into his mic, “She’s ready.”

Brienne closed her eyes and lost her breath, as if she was speaking in front of a million person audience in a stadium. _Just get this over with._

“Three,” the cameraman said.

_Be natural._

“Two.”

_Be yourself._

“One.”

_Open your eyes._ Brienne’s eyelids snapped open as her heart burst. The door opened, sliding away while her eyes traveled along bright red carpet in the hallway. Across, another door opened. Her eyes caught a small glimpse of a figure wearing a black suit, his head held down, eyes closed—she only saw a full head of hair—and she dove head first to the right like a dog running from fireworks.

_I can’t do this!_ Brienne’s noodle legs and feet had a mind of their own, forcing herself behind a wall where that _man_ could not see her. She hid from him. _Was that even Jaime?_ Back against the wall, she did her best to ignore the cameraman filming her from across the room.

“Brienne?” Jaime’s voice called out, and hearing him made her heart whimper. _It was Jaime._ She ruined the entire first look.

Her chest heaved—this was almost a panic attack. Or the best decision she ever made.

“Here, I have my eyes closed. Come out,” Jaime said from the hallway.

Brienne barely heard him over her own pounding pulse. When her fingertips clenched against the wall behind her, she took in a deep breath and nodded her head—inching her feet closer and closer towards the opening.

“I won’t open my eyes until you tell me to,” Jaime said, his voice reassuring and calming. “Come out, I want to hear you, feel you, anything.”

He was right. They had so much to experience with one another—why wait? Brienne forced a smile and straightened her posture. Given all the experience and work she lived through, she had nothing to be afraid of. His voice and words brought life to her. She stepped forward, managing a more natural smile, turned the corner and—

Jaime.

Brienne froze. A man stood there, within arm’s reach. A natural tan covered his skin, and his right hand covered both of his eyes. His lips curved up into a mild smirk, making her turn white. His strong chin and jawline were sculpted out of marble. Not a blemish stained his cheeks or forehead, and the faintest stubble peppered his face, better than Photoshop. Short, light hair on his head leaned towards his right. Slowly, he pulled away his hand, keeping his eyes closed. Doing so made Brienne weak as if lightning struck her. He wasn’t just handsome, he was beautiful—perfect. Too perfect.

“Come here,” he said, extending out his left hand for her to hold.

_No, no, no—this will never work._ This entire experiment was a horrible joke. “I—” she started to say, unable to laugh—shaking her head and turning around. “I’m—”

“You’re fine,” Jaime said, and his hand reached out and wrapped around her left arm… warm, soft and strong.

Still as stone, Brienne lost her breath and fixed her eyes on the red carpet beneath their feet. She needed to leave, but her feet refused to move. Her brain failed to process how Jaime looked like _this._

“I’m sorry,” he said, letting go of her arm. “I should probably look where I’m touching you, or at least ask first.”

She missed his contact—their _first_ contact—probably their last. Hearing his voice made her lips twist and eyes shut with a hard wince.

“Can I? Touch you?” he asked. “Hug you? Kiss you? Anything?”

“I’m not sure you’d want to...” Brienne faltered. She turned to look over her shoulder at him. His eyes were still closed, but both of his brows tensed and his lips frowned. _Even in pain, he’s handsome._ Pain. In that moment, she remembered he hated rejection more than anything—and here she was, rejecting him before he even had a chance to reject her. Her heart wept for him all over again.

Mustering strength, she turned and reached for his hand. The second their skins touched, his brows softened and his lips fluttered once. Like he promised, his eyes remained closed. Brienne swallowed, noticing her mouth wetter than she remembered moments ago. His hand gently squeezed hers as she stepped forward, completely taken aback by his attractive features. Their hands continued to hold while they tiptoed forward like slow magnets, unbidden and drawn together. Her eyes no longer focused on his face while they invaded each other’s space—foreheads pressed against each other. He smelled masculine, and she couldn’t help but release her faintest smile.

“You _are_ taller than me, I can feel it,” he said, barely above a whisper. 

_Only a little._ Vibrations from his voice tickled across her skin, mere inches from tasting him. She held herself back as her heart broke open from its cocoon. Brienne gave his hand a squeeze. “I told you—”

“You smell amazing. Vanilla. I should have known.” His eyes were still closed.

Her teeth dug into the inside of her lip.

“You’re scared,” he whispered, noses barely touching. Their breaths blurred together and she forgot anything else existed. “Close your eyes if it makes you feel better, if you don’t want to see my reaction,” he said.

An interesting proposal, Brienne considered it without allowing her teeth to chatter. “Okay,” she said, her breath shuddering—closing her eyes. She continued to hold his hand as they both stepped a couple feet away from each other. Her ears honed in, hearing nothing—no gasps of horror, scoffs or laughs. Seconds passed, and her eyes remained closed. If he smiled, of all things, she regretted not seeing it. She was sure it was beautiful.

His reaction to her appearance remained a mystery with her eyes closed. He stepped closer, hand still clasped with hers. Saying nothing, his breath washed over her neck. Brienne squeezed his hand harder, unable to handle his silence—and her lips trembled. Jaime’s other hand cradled her left cheek, thumb brushing against skin beneath her eye. Vision dark, she breathed him in, his warmth and smell concentrating in front of her. Jaime’s mouth hovered near hers, lips tingling on the border of contact. She couldn’t believe it—him. He gently pressed forward and kissed her, leaning up with a softness so foreign her eyes snapped open to find his eyelids closed. His hands sweetened against her skin and Brienne melted, fluttering herself blind into their first kiss.

He was a great kisser. His face turned right while hers turned left, and his tenderness balanced out the prickly feel of his stubble against her cheeks. His lips followed her lead, and the moment Brienne parted them, he dragged her bottom lip between his with a faint moan. Chills ran through her, as if it was her first kiss. It had been years since her last real one—yet here she was, sharing one of the most intimate moments of her life with an audience.

Jaime pulled away his slow and dreamy kiss. They hadn’t yet shared a single moment without microphones or cameras, but the lingering taste of him pushed her through doubt as she opened her eyes. And there he was, only inches away from her—eyes open and staring into hers. _Of course they’re green._ He said, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You’re not wearing short shorts.”

She burst into a chuckle and squeezed his left hand. His subtle smile both killed and saved her, but her eyes widened at the sight of red lipstick on and around his lips. It hardly affected his attractiveness. “Jaime, I think you have—” A blush as crimson as the mistake staining his face crept up Brienne’s neck and chest. _Gods, this is so embarrassing._ She probably had lipstick over her chin and face— 

“You want to start over? I can get cleaned up and you can come back in short shorts.”

“Stop,” she said, smiling. She knew he was joking—hopefully the whole world knew that as well.

“Before we get cleaned up,” he said, wetting his lips with a god-like power, “I have my first gift for you.”

Floating, Brienne remained still while the handsome man in front of her knelt onto one knee. After he brought out a diamond ring from his pocket, his flawless jaw jetted out while he gazed up at her. He was still smiling—lipstick stains and all.

“Will you marry me?”

She didn’t believe him, and her quivering body may have revealed her fear. But onlooking cameras, lights and the sensation of the microphone digging into her shoulder reminded her to at least _hope_ this was real. His child-like smile made it impossible for her to say no. “Yes,” she said, oxytocin overpowering fears.

His smile widened, seemingly genuine, and Brienne considered this entire moment too good to be true. The more she looked at him, the more her heart struggled to comprehend her new reality. But when Jaime slipped the diamond ring on her left ring finger, stood and sighed a sigh of relief—a sound she loved hearing in the pods—Brienne let out her own breath and dumbfounded smile. His eyes gazed over her face, lingering on her eyes more than anything. She did the same, unable to tear her view away from the perfect man in front of her. He had to be wondering how much of a mistake this was.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up,” he said, reaching out for her right hand. Jaime pulled on Brienne’s arm like she was a character on a daytime soap opera—and she allowed it. She blinked, walking with him into the blue room where he started. “Any wipes or tissues?” Jaime asked the cameraman. No answer.

Jaime let out a single laugh, and Brienne bit back a smile. He let her hand go and he reached for a box on a table in front of the couch. Upon opening it, he retrieved a plain white t-shirt. “Here,” he said, furrowing his brows and reaching forward to dab smudged lipstick around her lips. She focused on him—he literally couldn’t have an unattractive expression if he tried. And Brienne, her attractiveness only increased if the sun hit her in just the right angle to reveal blue and yellow features in her eyes. Such an event happened _maybe_ once a year.

“I think we need to find you a new lipstick, or we’re going to have this problem more often,” he said, eyes glancing up at her with a piercing ability to make her weak. She smiled once and averted her eyes away, afraid her ovaries might revolt against her.

“I’ve done the best I can. My turn,” Jaime said, sending her a smug smile while he held out the shirt, now with red stains near its collar. Her heart wanted to thank him for speaking so much, because every time she heard his voice, it tasted like warm tea on a winter’s day. 

She nodded and accepted the shirt, wrapping cotton between her fingers. Bringing his shirt to her mouth, she grazed a small part of the shirt with the tip of her tongue, wetting it. His eyes studied her. She didn’t have huge acne or tentacles growing out of her head, but freckles, acne scars, nose lines and just about everything else made her wonder what was going through his head. Cotton wet, she closed her mouth and reached forward to wipe away the smears of lipstick around his lips. Her fingers screamed, as if they met their celebrity crush in person.

“I can tell you’re nervous,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “Because you haven’t even asked why I have this shirt with me.”

Brienne met eyes with him for a moment and both of their smiles grew. He knew her well. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. Her fingers stopped dabbing his face.

“You don’t have to say anything. How do I look?” he asked with a smirk and stepped a foot back from her.

Her eyes traveled along the length of him. She hadn’t even noticed his body since meeting him, and reality hit her hard like a shot of tequila. He was one of the gods in flesh.

“I mean the lipstick,” he said, snatching her out of her daydream.

“Oh, you’re…” Brienne pressed her lips together and said, “perfect.”

He gave a weak smile. The cameraman stifled back a cough and Jaime blinked. “Take the shirt with you. I wore it yesterday. It’s for you until we meet tomorrow. Microbes to go.”

They only stood a few feet apart and she already found herself wanting to devour him or run away. Most of all, she wanted him alone, to truly talk—without cameras, without microphones. Then again, her heart raced faster at the thought. If they wanted to see if they would truly work together, they needed time. And they didn’t have much of it.

Jaime waited for her to speak. Brienne swallowed and managed to say, “Thanks. I don’t have a pocket DSM-5 book on me to trade.” _Gods, why did I say that? It always goes back to work._

“We won’t need that,” he said, sneering with a smile. “I mean, you will for boards, although I bet you already have everything in your head.” His eyes widened and he reached forward to touch her bare arms. “I can help you study!”

It was an odd experience to see his excitement in person, and his extroverted nature overwhelmed her. “I—let’s—”

“Let’s what?” He let her go again, holding his flexing hands at his side. “Get married first?”

Brienne pursed her lips together and looked away.

“You’re blushing,” he said, using the same deep voice she fell in love with in the pods.

She snapped her view towards him with a growing smile. Their conversation went as naturally as before, and it made her float higher. “And you’re great at diagnosing,” she said, trying to breathe through the blush. She bit her smile back and said with a shrug, “It’s just cellulitis.” She knew he loved it when she joked with him.

His eyebrows raised, mouth opened and eyes stared—if only for a few seconds. With a twitching smirk, he said, “I’m not into strep teases.”

“Jaime,” she warned, soon biting her tongue and rolling her eyes. 

“What?” he said, faking a frown. “Strep causes cellulitis. I see strep teases all the time at work. It’s a great joke. I love puns, you know I can’t get rid of them.”

As she shook her head and smiled, the entrance door to the blue room opened and a blond haired man stood outside with a silent smile. It was their cue to end their meeting. 

Brienne must have dreamed all of it: this experiment, her feelings, his voice, his body, his—everything. She took in a deep breath while their grins turned more somber at the thought of separating. “I—” she started to say, but she couldn’t find the words for her feelings.

He reached out and held her empty hand with one of his. “Just say it, say whatever you’re thinking.”

Locking eyes with his, she said, “I love you.” She meant it.

A subtle smile played on his lips and his chest filled with a deep breath of air. He squeezed her hand and said, “I love you, too. Until tomorrow—” He swooped up to kiss her again, making her simultaneously freeze and soften against him. By the time she thought to kiss back, he pulled away and licked his newly stained lips. With a smile, he said, “I told you I’m not a germaphobe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer Isle Vacay/Holiday Next!


	8. Jaime

Warm humidity blanketed his face the moment Jaime stepped off the plane. He and the other successfully engaged men arrived in Walano, the Summer Isle destination for the next few days. Producers encouraged everyone to think of it as a honeymoon before the marriage, and see if they could sprout an emotional connection into a physical one. Each couple would have their own resort suite and individualized dates before they returned to King’s Landing—and finish planning their big event. Weddings were less than four weeks away.

It all sounded too fast to some, but Jaime disagreed. He didn’t choose whom he loved, and his heart loved Brienne. Hours of flying with the other guys made Jaime fidget his feet. Producers kept quiet about when everyone would see their fiancée again. On the airfield, crickets and birds sang, even in the dark. Jaime gave brotherly goodbye hugs to Sam, Grey, Theon, Drogo, Oberyn and even Arys—all engaged men. No one knew if they would see each other again.

Seven male producers stood outside of their own limos and Jimmy beckoned Jaime over to him. As Jaime approached his designated limo, he walked through moisture filled air, reminding him of his journey and fight with Ebola. _Don’t think about that._ His eyes glanced around, filled with sights of dark, tall trees and vines—greenery everywhere. It looked nothing like King’s Landing or the small trailer park he lived in for the past ten days. This looked like paradise at night. _Imagine it at daytime._ Jaime whistled.

Instead, he imagined other things: Brienne’s taste. He would be a fool to calculate how many hours it had been since they kissed. Exactly 16 hours. He was a damn fool and loved every moment of it. Scents of dirt and rain filled his lungs as he opened his limo door and Jimmy entered from the other side. When Jaime ducked into the car, he met a pleasant surprise.

Brienne sat on one of the leather seats, dressed in a pale green cocktail dress. Her blue eyes flashed over to greet him, widening while her own female producer positioned a mic underneath her dress sleeve. Jaime missed Brienne already, and these microphones were about to chain them to the ground.

The producer allowed Jaime to sit next to Brienne. His fiancée blushed and averted her eyes away, the same way she did when they first met yesterday. His eyes took advantage of the opportunity and traveled down her creamy chest—distracted. This dress hugged her looser than her blue dress yesterday. Chocolate chips freckled her arms and face, some faded and some fresh. Despite her being taller than him and toned, his shoulders, chest, arms and legs were bigger than hers. Her face hid her emotions well enough. Thus, he studied her harder. Her pale, barely noticeable eyebrows gave her a youthful look and they almost never furrowed. A broad nose stuck out, but it matched equally large lips and eyes. He looked forward to memorizing every angle and expression, but he cared far more what she looked like on the inside. And he'd already seen her.

Looking away, he replayed her innocent reactions in his head over and over again. She became as fragile as a flower in a single moment, and maybe she changed when she saw him in person. He knew he would be made fun of for choosing a woman taller than him, and gods knew how many people loved to taunt Jaime about his brother. He feared Brienne might face the same treatment, but what bothered him most was not knowing _how_ she wanted to handle it. Their appearances seemed to affect Brienne more than Jaime.

Jaime turned his hand palm up and Brienne’s timid hand reached out to accept it. He wanted to kiss, suck and touch her far beyond simple hand holding. But with two producers watching, it sounded as fun as fooling around while parents chaperoned. _That does sound fun. Kind of._ Jaime and Brienne shared brief smiles while their producers finished strapping mics to her dress and his blue polo shirt. They explained the game plan. Cameras and mics would record a celebratory dinner, and they were supposed to chat about any possible conflicts in their relationship. _Let’s talk about the life and times of Tywin Lannister. Sounds romantic._

“And we’re also gathering everyone’s opinion on sex on your first night together. No pressure either way, we just want to know your opinion,” Jimmy said, smiling as if he did them a favor.

Brienne said, “Oh.”

_Oh._ “Isn’t sex just for procreation?” Jaime asked.

Jimmy released a small smirk while the female producer’s mouth dropped—only for a split second.

“He’s kidding,” Brienne said, giving him a brief look, as if looking at him might turn her to stone. Her shyness gave him pause. “You are kidding, right?” Brienne said, managing to look at him for more than a few seconds.

“I’ve always wanted to give up my license and become a septon.”

Brienne chuckled and shook her head, biting her bottom lip. Jaime squeezed her hand and gave her a quick, but genuine, smile. He guessed she suffered from nervousness, and he didn’t blame her. Conflict and sex were not easy topics. Recording and filming an engagement dinner… even harder.

The set-up, however, almost stole away Jaime’s breath. They walked into their resort suite: large king bed, a lounging area, large bathroom, shower, bathtub, jacuzzi and patio. Rose petals and candles flickered on an outside table, complete with their own server. Waves hummed from outside their patio and romantic described the scene lightly. Both Brienne and Jaime did their best to ignore the cameraman on the patio—their patio.

As dinner came out, they engaged in small talk about the citrus salad, medium rare steak, truffle potatoes and champagne. It all tasted amazing, but the bitterness of their shallow conversation bothered Jaime—and he knew Brienne well enough to know it probably bothered her more. She loved deep conversations, yet she avoided bringing up any conflicting topics or sex. 

Their luggage arrived in the suite while they sat at nearly empty plates—camera still rolling. Brienne remained strong and calm, although he could see her lips occasionally twitch and eyes glance away whenever he stared too long. _Is everything okay?_ He wanted cameras out of there in order to have a real conversation with her. Therefore, he dove headfirst into the requirement.

“It’s our first night together,” Jaime said, and her back straightened against her chair. He held out his hand for her to hold and she accepted him with clammy, cold fingers. She was scared, and likely shocked by the new environment. In the pods, cameras blended into the walls well enough, but here—they loomed over them like his childhood algebra teacher. He decided to take the lead and drive the conversation. He continued, “You know I haven’t had many… partners.” _One, in fact._ “But I want to let you know I feel close enough to take the next step with you, but only if you do. I don’t want there to be any pressure either way.”

Brienne swallowed, although she finished her meal minutes ago. The server scooted around their table and refilled her champagne flute. “I’ve only been with one guy,” she said, managing a weak smile. Liquid courage soaked into her and her soft expressions stretched out long enough for Jaime to see a few walls shrink. “I’m still so…” she looked over at him and her lips quivered. She shook her head and gave a bashful smile before she sipped more champagne.

“You're so what?” He asked, rubbing her soft hand underneath his thumb. He wanted to comfort her, but he knew jokes and his imagination only landed so far.

“Surprised. You’re so… perfect.”

Jaime could have smiled, but he frowned instead. His looks gave him many advantages in life, but in this moment, it pushed her away.

“I wonder…” she said, growing quiet, “how could you be attracted to me?”

Closing his eyes, Jaime both tensed and relaxed when the truth came out. He should have known. Many men, including his brother, laughed at Jaime for being sexually prude. Tyrion, a victim to self-esteem, also questioned why Tysha loved him. Trying to meet her eyes with his, Jaime said, “I can’t explain why or who I’m attracted to. I am attracted to you. We have this emotional bond I don’t have with anyone else, and that matters more to me than looks, status—you name it.”

Brienne gave a slow nod and gazed at her empty plate.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. Sounds like demisexuality.”

“Demi-what? You think I need a random sexual label to want to have sex with you?” He narrowed his eyes while she broadened her shoulders. Coming off too strong, Jaime cleared his throat and said, “I’d prove it to you but I’m afraid we have company.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, fingers buzzing with nervousness in his palm. “I’m sorry, I’m just—” her eyes glanced over towards the camera.

“It’s okay,” Jaime said. She hid her emotion well, as he expected, but alcohol and fear wore down her armor and he saw it—felt it. He didn’t mind cameras filming him, but her reactions drove him to protect her. “We should talk about the biggest conflict in our relationship.”

“What’s that?” she said, paling over in candlelight. Her lips tensed.

He sipped champagne, still on his first glass. “Our age difference.”

Brienne’s mouth twisted into a cute smile.

“When you’re 38, I’ll be 46,” Jaime said, leaning over the table and squeezing her hand harder. “When you’re 48, I’ll be 56. When you’re 61, I’ll be…”

“69?”

Jaime winked and Brienne covered her laughs with her free hand. 

He relished every moment of it, even when the server came over to ask if they wanted dessert. Instead of answering or prolonging their pangful dinner, Jaime turned and asked if the cameraman filmed enough footage. Having lived a teenager’s life worth of awkward moments in a single evening, he demanded—politely—alone time with his fiancée. Brienne remained quiet while the two of them and the cameraman stripped themselves of mics, cords and battery packs.

When the cameraman smiled, nodded and left their suite room, Jaime closed and bolted the door. Brienne stood across the room and wet her lips—staring at him. His heart quickened like a fidget spinner.

“We should—unpack,” she said, bending over to unzip her luggage.

Jaime’s mouth ran dry and closed his eyes for a moment. Her body made him fifteen again. Tapping his fingers against his wrist, tempted to hold his arm for a moment of self-soothing, he let out a small sigh and said, “It feels good to have them gone.” 

She looked over her shoulder and returned back to her luggage, now on the bed. When she returned to taking out her clothes in silence, Jaime asked, “You seem—tense, and you didn’t answer your preference about—” he stopped, hearing his own prying statement. He only wanted her to open up and be herself, like she was in the pods. 

“Thank you for helping me out there,” she said. Another redirect.

_Damn, she’s good at her job._ Jaime nodded and turned to his own luggage. The last thing he wanted to do was unpack clothes, trunks and toiletries, but he followed Brienne’s lead.

“Want to listen to country music?” she asked, looking across the room with a playful smirk.

He held back a snarky laugh and sneered instead. “How dare you, you vicious, cold woman. No, I only want to listen to you.” He smiled when she smiled back and returned to her luggage. _What am I doing over here?_

Abandoning his items, he walked over beside her and her suitcase. “Here, let me help,” he said, but her hand raced to close her baggage while her posture straightened.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, forcing a small smile.

Jaime’s throat tightened. It didn’t take a genius to see she hid something. Thankfully, he was a genius and she definitely hid something. He rolled with it anyway and his gaze went to the king bed: long enough to fit both of them with room to spare. “I sleep on the right. Do you sleep on the left?”

“No, I prefer right,” she said, words honest but voice quiet.

“I suppose we’ll have to see who wins in a wrestling match.” Jaime smirked.

“That sounds fun,” she said, blushing and smiling. “I’m—” she stuttered when his fingers grazed over her bare arm. Touch tingling, he trailed the tips of his fingers on her skin while her eyes closed and she leaned closer. _Open up, please._ Her chest quickened into shorter, shallower breaths. Finally, she said, “I’m going to take a shower, is that okay?”

It wasn’t what he expected, but Jaime licked his lips and nodded with a frown. “Of course it’s okay. I’m not going to tell you what to do. It sounds dangerous telling a psychiatrist what to do.”

“Thanks. Don’t worry, I won’t tell you what to do either,” she said, sneaking her hand into her luggage. Once she pulled out a bag of small toiletries, she stood straight and her eyes lingered lower on Jaime’s face. After a few seconds of him waiting for her to kiss him, she turned and went into the bathroom.

Jaime stood still, even when he heard the shower start. Her behavior made no sense to him. A strong and annoying itch on his arm demanded a scratch while he looked around their suite. He frowned, wondering where he went wrong or how else to get her to open up. When his eyes fell to her luggage, he stared. Closed, unzipped and on the bed, it distracted him. _What does she have in there she doesn’t want me to see?_ He could look inside, and she’d never know—he could keep a secret. 

But he couldn’t do it. Instead, he pivoted and stepped into the bathroom. Vanilla met him first. Green fabric pooled outside of the opaque shower walls, and the outline of Brienne’s obscured body made Jaime feel his own pulse. It sounded as fast as the water dripping from the showerhead. Shower walls reached just below the ceiling and he couldn’t see a single detail of her.

She didn’t say anything as he untucked his polo—she probably didn’t know he was there. This entire situation reminded him of work, as if he was thrust into a unique, once-in-a-lifetime consult. Brienne was rarer than rare, and Jaime dared himself to take risks with her. Warmer and wetter air met his naked skin as he undressed, able to set his belt and buckle on the ground without much noise.

After stepping closer to the shower, he managed to move his wired tongue and asked, “Mind if I join you?”

A strangled croak erupted from inside the shower and the vague image of her body whirled around. His hand flexed—expecting her to reject him. His physique was great, especially for a 36 year old, but everything soured after denial. 

“Y—you’re naked,” she said.

Jaime smirked, although she didn’t see it. It reminded him of the pods, already a distant memory. If he was going to wait for her at the end of an aisle, he needed to let his fears go. “That is how one is supposed to take a shower.” His verbal wall sounded harsher than he hoped and he winced, licking his lips as he calculated his risk for rejection was far higher than acceptance. “It’s fine,” he said, “If this is too soon. I’m—eager to spend time with you.” His runaway horse heart rambled and rambled like his voice. “It’s okay—”

Brienne popped the shower door open—creaking clouds of steam rolled out. Jaime nearly died. He took in a breath of warm, moist air, pulled open the door and stepped in. He let out a breathless smile at the sight of her, pale curves and all. She avoided eye contact until all she could look at was between his legs. After, her eyes stared straight into his while her chest, neck and face saturated in color. The pink contrasted with wet, blonde strands of hair sticking to her skin. Water poured onto her, warm streams rounding over her nipples and breasts. Small waterfalls dripped off the tips of her fingers while her lower lip disappeared between teeth. Due to their profession, they’d both seen their fair share of naked bodies—but hers made Jaime’s chest struggle to breathe. 

He arched his brow and smirked. Standing, still dry, Jaime gestured to the falling water, “Can I?” She hogged all of it.

After quick nods, she shuffled to the side, trying to make herself as small as a mouse. His skin appeared tanner than hers, and the contrast tempted him to touch her, but he decided against it. Her blue eyes never left him, and even when he stood under the water and raised—flexed—his arms to rinse his hair, he still felt her eyes still on him. Brienne’s mouth dropped and her attention averted away when she caught him looking through falling water.

A-ha. She liked him. Jaime narrowed his brows and said, “I’m guessing you’re scared—of what?”

Like a spring unleashing its compression, Brienne blinked and leaned her back against the marbled wall behind her. “Gods, I don’t... mean to reject you.” Her eyes closed as if she could only talk without looking at him. “I love you, but—” a wrinkle formed between her tightening brows.

Jaime’s throat choked on his own breath, but he remained silent, frowning while she searched for the right words. _But what?_

“It’s hard for me to believe—someone like you… anyone… especially you—” she shook her head and scowled deeper. “It’s hard for me to believe you like me.” Her eyes opened to study his reaction. If they hadn’t been in the shower, naked and vulnerable, he might have guessed tears fell down her cheeks rather than lingering water. “I mean…” she appeared as if she were in pain. “Look at me.”

“I am,” Jaime said, slow and steady. She didn’t believe him. He wanted to know what fueled her, and she had been down-talking her attractiveness the moment they met in the pods. It didn’t matter to him if men, or women, gave her a below average rating. It mattered to him how she wanted to deal with it. Talking with her, he guessed she wanted reassurance. Lucky for her, he liked to talk.

”You made a point in the pods about not caring how I looked,” he said. “I didn’t once say I want a person who looks one way or another. I want connection. Call it semisexual or demigod, I don’t care. I know what I want, but what do you want? For people not to talk? They will. And I’m sure you know that. So what, you’re taller. I’ve heard height jokes my entire life. What makes love, remember? Trust, vulnerability, respect, chemistry. We respect each other and I’ve never seen nor heard you disrespect anyone—it’s one of your most admirable traits. You’re vulnerable right now, as am I,” he gestured down the length of his naked body but her eyes glued on his face, as if looking at his crotch wasn't allowed. Her lips twitched, pressed and relaxed. He continued, “I don’t just like you, I love you. I’ll show you as fast or as slow as you want me to, but I need you to trust me. Take a chance on me—”

She crashed forward, swarming down to kiss him while pressing his back against a cold wall. The soft texture of her lips paired well with her passionate strength—her fragrant, wet skin brushing against the edge of his nose. Jaime leaned closer while her fevered hands slid and spread over his body, gliding over muscles. Soon, they kissed under falling water, louder than his expanding pulse. Kissing someone taller than him made him grip whatever skin his fingers found first, and when he seized her hips, she moaned. It was forever since their last kiss, and she tasted better than freshly baked cookies.

Jaime would be lying if he said he didn’t want to sleep with her, and his growing cock lied poorly. It touched the top of her thigh—soft, warm and wet enough to trick his mind into thinking he was already fucking her. A throaty groan escaped him before Brienne pulled away her kiss and looked him in the eye. 

“I’m on birth control,” she said, lips pink and swollen.

Not all blood left his brain, or not yet, at least. She was as direct as expected, although the meaning behind the words sounded sexy. Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck while water fell onto their shoulders. Voice hoarse, he said, “If you think an ID doc didn’t pack condoms—”

“I trust you.”

Gods, he almost lost himself in a dream. Turning off the water to the shower, drops of water trickled off their bodies. She wet her already dripping lips with the edge of her tongue and the sight grounded him. Condoms saved lives, but she wasn’t a hookup, not even a girlfriend. She was his fiancée. He said, “Nothing a vaccine or medicine can’t fix.” 

Her shoulder shrunk back, but her playful smile knew he was joking. They knew each other more than enough to trust each other—he hoped. He leaned forward and kissed her to save the moment, opening the shower door. Despite being one of his most inelegant seductions to date, he guided them both to the bed, bodies dripping and lips entangling. First times were destined to be awkward. He would last as long as a young buck without a condom, so when Brienne pulled him onto the bed, he broke their kiss to ask, “How do you finish?”

Blinking, she stared while her lips parted. Her creamy skin glowed under the faint, warm light of the suite. Her thighs, long and perfect, remained closed and her hands twisted among themselves while her back soaked into the comforter underneath her. She turned red. It dawned on him, the intimacy of his question, but if he was about to marry her, they needed to know these details sooner or later. Better _without_ cameras.

“Don’t laugh,” she said.

“Why would I laugh?” Jaime asked, frowning.

She rolled over and crawled to her luggage on her hands and knees, prone and perpendicular to him. His cock loved the view: breasts spilling, back arching, ass curving. Jaime let out a small sigh as his hand wrapped around the base of his cock—lazily stroking himself until Brienne retrieved a small object from her luggage. 

It was a small vibrator, red like her blush and the size of a finger. With several black circles and two black antennae—it was a ladybug vibrator. _That’s what she was hiding from me?_ Brienne cleared her throat and returned her back against the bed, thighs closed. “I said don’t laugh.”

Jaime smirked. “Show me,” he said, dragging his free hand up the length of her leg, over her knee and down her thigh. Sitting by her feet, his breath caught in his throat when she slowly spread her thighs and placed the vibrator over her clit. It buzzed. He never laughed, didn’t even smile—he watched her lose herself in her own pleasure and it made him clench his jaw. She closed her eyes and opened them whenever Jaime’s hand reached out to touch her leg. He backed off his touches, deciding not to interrupt her and deciding to watch. Soft curves of her chest lifted and fell as her breath quickened. Her abdomen flexed, nipples hardened and throat swallowed. It might have been the biggest tease of his life. His cock throbbed and his hands begged to take care of it, as he had done for years.

But as minutes continued and Brienne grew more comfortable, she sent her slow and free hand between her legs to toy with herself. Jaime leaned closer and reached forward, hesitating before he mirrored her fingers with his own. Warm, wet and tingling, he gently touched her while her body shuddered and moaned. She never saw his open half-smile or his other hand teasing his own cock—she enjoyed herself with closed eyes instead. Her finger slipped inside while he lubed his own fingers. This entire experience threatened to finish him off, whether it was his hand, her hand, her mouth or his own damn mind—Jaime tried to focus on her and keep quiet.

When she pulled out her finger, he slipped his middle finger in, palm up. Her entire body tensed and clenched. Jaime added another finger, slowly fucking her with his hand while the vibrator hummed and her mouth whimpered. He followed her cues: bucking hips, flexing core and building breaths. She was close, getting wetter and wetter. His two fingers drove into her while flushes crept along her chest and up her neck. Her back arched and lips opened to allow one of the most sinful moans he ever heard. Tightening against him, she clenched against his fingers with strong, rhythmic pulses as she came—her free hand grasping onto his arm and squeezing it hard enough to turn his skin white. With an open mouth, he stared and the view of her pleasure smoldered. 

Before this moment, he fantasized slipping up her skirt in the limo, going down on her at dinner—but now… Jaime only wanted one thing.

Eyes fluttered open and she peered down her naked self and into his eyes with a look of appreciation. She gave a weak smile, clicking the vibrator off and tossing it across the bed. Between shallow breaths, she asked, “What do you want?”

Jaime swallowed and leaned forward, crawling over her. “You.”

Her hands reached up to pull Jaime closer to her, forcing him to kiss her. He yielded, settling his weight on her while she spread her thighs for him. She tasted different after she came, more feral and more wild. Her own euphoria rolled over his tongue—it was the only sensation he could focus on until his cock pushed into her. She moaned and she writhed, fingers digging into his back. Still swollen from her orgasm, his cock savored each warm and slow thrust. She raised her legs and he sank deeper, causing her to yelp. He stopped, kissing brief apologies against her lower neck. Brienne’s whimpers tingled his lips and he caught sight of her breast. He enjoyed himself so much he forgot she even had those… Jaime’s left hand reached and grasped, fitting her entire breast in his hand. 

Brienne stretched her hands down and gripped Jaime's ass, pulling him in deeper. He groaned against her skin. Maybe her yelp was a good sign—as if he could process such information while his cock demanded to fuck her harder and faster. He lifted his chest off of hers and hovered over her, thrusting while her fingers spread through damp hair on his head. Oncoming release turned him into an animal. No longer averting her eyes, she stared into his while he held himself above her—close enough to feel her breath and far enough to see her jostle with each thrust. “Fuck,” he whispered. She sucked in a sharp breath, dragging her teeth along her swollen lip—watching him, breathing him—and it was too much. Jaime came, wincing his eyes closed with a quieted roar. He filled her and filled her even after his arms weakened and he collapsed. His forehead, damp and hot, pressed against hers.

She never pushed him away and never protested. Jaime remained limp on her while their sweaty bodies tangled. Brienne wasn’t a weak woman by any means, but he grew more and more guilty of entrapping her by the breath. He rolled off, taking his satisfied and softening cock with him as he lay naked next to her.

They breathed in silence—both staring at the cream ceiling. He almost spoke up to tell her to pee. Gods knew how many UTI cases he’d seen. _Fuck._ He hated and loved how work permeated everything, just like microbes. _Fuck._

An oncoming yawn broke his thoughts and his body lulled into the blissful abyss of love. It was a dangerous place to be, but he never felt more comfortable.

He turned his head to the right, gazing at Brienne while she rotated her head to look at him, hair still wet. She looked at him like he was one of the gods. He flashed a smile and said, “You can have the right side of the bed.”

Brienne gave a playful scoff and closed her eyes, smiling.


	9. Brienne

Waking before dawn, Brienne lay in one of the comfiest beds she’d ever slept in. _Well, anything feels better than those trailers._ Her legs had room to stretch, if she wanted to, but she preferred entangling them with the thick, down comforter. At some point, Jaime pulled the warm covers over them. Brienne never wanted to leave. She smelled him beside her and heard his slow, drawn out breaths. Rousing songs from outside birds reminded her they were on the Summer Isles, but her heart felt more at paradise than her mind.

She loved Jaime, and after last night, she had many, many nights to look forward to—she hoped. He somehow pursued her even after she acted like a complete doofus. And he _didn’t_ laugh at her trusty vibrator. Biting her lip at the thought, she amazed herself she opened up enough to masturbate in front of him. Champagne helped. _He helped._ Brienne blushed and turned her head to gaze over him—still sleeping in rhythmic waves. Producers hadn’t returned phones yet, but even if she had hers, she would rather look at Jaime upon waking.

Staring at him allowed her to think and combine the handsome man with the charming voice she loved in the pods. She knew she lived in reality, one filled with growing smiles and quickening breaths. They lived in a honeymoon stage, and she debated relishing inside of it or dissecting everything wrong with their situation. _Can someone even fall so hard and so fast on a TV show?_ She knew her answer, thus, the stakes raised. Her left thumb toyed with the ring on her finger. She wondered what would happen when their bliss turned sour, as all relationships couldn’t taste sweet forever.

But as Jaime opened his eyes and gave her a sleepy and warm smile, she decided to smile back.

“Morning,” he said, his warm hand finding her arm underneath the covers. It was almost always him showing affection. She intended to change that—if she ever mustered up the courage. 

She blinked and bit back a smile as the night sky expanded with daylight behind him. “Morning.” 

“Where’s the flat sheet?” He asked, feeling around underneath the comforter.

Brienne gave a quick frown and said, “Oh, I don’t like flat sheets. I prefer the comforter.”

“I read an article once that said those who don’t like sheets are 110% more likely to get MRSA infections. Odds ratio is like 100.”

_Is that even possible?_ Closing her eyes and smiling, she shook her head and turned onto her side, facing him. “Excuse me, sir, I have the power to submit you as a danger to self due to grandiose delusions.”

He scoffed. “Not in Walano, you don’t. Although you _do_ have many other powers over me.” He licked his lips and leaned onto his back, exploring the other side of the bed with his free hand. “Where did your insect friend go?”

Blushing, Brienne scrambled over him to find her embarrassing vibrator. In doing so, her abdomen rubbed against his bare, hard chest and his hands abandoned their search to clasp around her waist. He breathed her in and she stretched to grab the little bug, not caring how ungraceful she looked. Not like she could change it. _Is he… flirting?_

When her hand grabbed it, Jaime asked, “Wouldn’t it make more sense if it was a bee?”

_Maybe not._ She pondered his question while he kissed her bare shoulder. It reminded her she shared a bed with a man… naked… and she was about to marry him. _Shit._ “Not sure if women want to think about stingers when they’re touching themselves.”

He smirked and reached to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. Brienne held the vibrator in her hand, hiding it in her palm. Liquid courage had long cleared out of her system, and now every nerve shivered. Jaime wrapped a loose arm around the small of her back and asked, “What do you think about when you touch yourself? I want to know everything.”

_Everything?_ Brienne weakened over him like ice cream in the sun, melting and pooling onto his chest as she tried to make herself as small as possible. The side of her face rested on his sternum, and his heart beat half as fast as hers. She knew the importance of vulnerability, especially after last night. After a deep breath, Brienne tried not to think about how heavy she was while leaning some of her weight on him. “I don’t know—I’ve been single for so long. I guess I read something steamy first.”

“A book?”

“Kinda, books on my phone.”

“Is it steamy enough to give your phone water damage?”

Brienne giggled and buried her head into his chest. 

He laughed with her and said, “Don’t leave out a single detail. What turns you on, what turns you off?”

Nine hundred ninety times out of a thousand, Brienne asked that question instead of answering it. She lost count how many ill minds she asked during interviews at work—mostly sexual offenders to build evidence against them at court. She went to psychiatric court as a witness at least once a day at work. Testimony from Brienne helped certain patients with serious mental illness. A large majority of her patients were harmless, and people suffering from mental illness were more often victims than perpetrators.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jaime said, tilting down his chin to glance at her.

“No, it’s okay…” she said, but her voice didn’t agree with her words. She bit her lip knowing he noticed her shyness, and her lack of romantic experience plastered itself on a billboard for the whole world to see. At least cameras and mics weren’t involved. Then again, now was the perfect time to have such an important conversation.

Brienne lifted herself off of his warm chest and sat in bed, staring down at him with a growing smile. He replied with the faintest smirk she could imagine—looking perfect as ever. Her eyes trailed over chest hair sprinkling across his chest. She felt parched. “Well, I don’t like being objectified. I really like—” her gaze explored over him slowly. His broad shoulders, muscles, neck, skin—everything was perfect. “I honestly like every part about you.”

He gave a lazy, but handsome, smile. “You once said I talk too much. Do you like talking during sex?”

Averting her eyes away with pursed lips, Brienne leaned her head back and forth while she pondered. “I love hearing you talk—most of the time—but maybe not during sex.”

Jaime’s hand rubbed down her right thigh, almost giving her shivers. “We’ll compromise,” he said with a wink.

He hadn’t said anything except a few obscenities last night, which she didn’t mind, but she wondered what else his mouth could do. Now she blushed. People pleasing tendencies spread over her like a drug pulsing through her veins, questioning if she disappointed him and wondering what he thought. Mysteries of his preferences nagged at her. “What about you? Turn offs, turn ons, fantasies?”

“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t like oral or hand jobs, but those are second best,” he said. Brienne breathed in and nodded, but her heart shivered. If given a choice, she preferred vaginal sex over others, but variety had its advantages. The colorful joy of agreeing with him washed away quickly due to her knowing his next answers had the power to sink their relationship. Jaime said, “Turn offs, I can only think of a few. Baby voices or dishonesty. Some people get a tent in their pants out of cheating but that isn’t my thing.”

Brienne held her breath. So far so good.

“Fantasies…” he said with a deep, breathy voice and stared at the ceiling. “There’s one thing that gets me hard so fast it’s almost a problem.”

_Oh, fuck._ Brienne tried to appear casual, cocking her head to the side while she waited for him to answer. Gods, his answer was going to kill her—she knew it. _Boob fucking._ Not really possible with her. _Anal._ Like every other guy. _Girl on girl._ Also like every other guy. _Feet._ Hers were at least big. _Threesome._ While common, it was not on her to-do list. _He’s a furry, isn’t he?_

With a sinful smile, he said, “Anything in public.”

_Oh._

“You look surprised,” he said. His lips and eyes sneered, smirking.

“I’ve heard a lot of unique sexual fantasies or kinks at work, so almost nothing surprises me,” she said as he averted his eyes away. His sudden shyness relaxed every one of her tense muscles. Brienne lowered herself to snuggle next to him. She’d never had sex in public, whether it be in cars, bathrooms or deserted rooms. Jaime’s arm wrapped around her and she leaned her forehead against the side of his chest and asked, “Tell me more. It’s safe to talk about it.” 

He took in a deep breath—she heard his lungs fill beneath her ear. His heart raced. “I have as many misdemeanors as a puppy, by the way.”

“I figured,” Brienne said, lifting her face to let him see her smile. “Although, you’d be surprised how many people act on it. Having sex in the middle of a crowd is different than a car in the middle of nowhere. What do you like about the idea of it?”

“The danger,” he said, failing to surprise her. She could spend hours analyzing his thoughts, words and behaviors—but she knew better. Jaime closed his eyes and his hand traced down her bare back. “The idea I get to enjoy the most intimate parts of you without anyone else knowing, even if it’s just a whispered conversation… there’s something about it.”

That _something_ was a form of control. Her mind couldn’t help but analyze his words. It didn’t bother Brienne the least bit, as almost every fantasy had some aspect of control or submission involved. Even her own darkest fantasy revolved around domination and the thought made her cheeks turn to fire.

“Do you mind if I tease you in public? Just words?” he asked.

Brienne’s eyes widened and she lifted again to gaze at him. At the sight of her, he released a relieved but timid smile. Little did he know, she blushed for entirely different reasons… and she couldn’t bring herself to admit them. “Sure, that’s fine,” she said, sounding way calmer than expected.

“Any dirty words you love or hate?”

“The delivery matters,” she said, resting again on his chest. Looking at him made her nerves wiggle, thus she preferred deeper conversations focusing on a random object—just like in the pods. Instead, her eyes ogled his neck. _Stay focused._ “I bet you agree with me that penis sounds like we’re at work.”

“Of course,” he said, “and dick—” 

“Oh no, dick sounds like we’re thirteen and drawing penises on bathroom walls,” she said.

He chuckled and squeezed her body closer for a second. “Cock it is then, I agree. What about you? Pussy? Cunt? Cooter?”

_Cooter?!_ Tempted to ask him if he heard “cooter” from a patient, she pressed her lips together and lifted to look at him with a frown. Her expression did little to discourage his growing smirk. She blinked and said, “I like to think of it as me, most of the time. I prefer cunt over pussy, although both can be misogynistic. I find it empowering if it’s used with respect. That’s why delivery matters. On second thought, don’t use pussy.” 

His expression turned serious. “Points taken. Why don’t you like—”

“The word “pussy” sounds like you’re stuck in an instant message chat room from twenty years ago.”

Jaime threw his head against his pillow and laughed while she giggled. He shook his head as if she were too funny for him to handle. It was a glorious sight. After wetting his lips, he asked, “What about your fantasies?”

_Ahh, crap._ Settling against his chest again, she inhaled a deep breath. Compelled to tell hers after he opened up about his, Brienne’s stomach knotted like a necklace chain. “There’s just one main one, as far as I know.” Her voice quieted without her intending to. He could reject her over this, and part of her wanted to keep her information safe and locked away in her mind. Jaime’s hand spread over the small of her back. _He didn’t laugh at the vibrator._ Brienne closed her eyes and said, “Face sitting.”

“Face sitting?”

She shot up and widened her eyes at him, unable to hold back growing, nervous energy inside of her. “I’ve never tried it, I don’t even know if I’d like it. But it’s what I think of when I use—” she stopped. She doubted he would even be interested in going down on her. _Why would he?_ “Gods, you’re an infectious disease d—” Her face turned from pink to white to red within seconds. “I doubt I’d even finish.” 

“Your microbiome has nothing against mine. Let them fight to the death,” he said, breathing in deep, calm breaths. He furrowed his brow, “You don’t think you’d finish? You haven’t even given my mouth a test drive yet.”

He had no power to read her mind and Brienne stopped for a moment. She remained sitting upright and it gave her a moment to take in the upper half of his body. A line of dark hair trailed down below his navel. Her eyes would have continued traveling down if it weren’t for the damned flat sheet covering the rest of him. By the time she looked back at his face, he had already been staring at her—and her own nakedness stole her attention. She tucked her arms in to try and cover her nipples. The vibrator still rested in her right hand, hidden from view. 

His question still lingered in her mind. She tried to interpret his long-standing gaze while she said, “I can’t even use my own hands to make myself orgasm. I use this.” They both looked at her now open palm, holding her ladybug vibrator. Despite useless antennae, the vibrator had great qualities: quiet, worked under water, portable. It took many years of trial and error to find what worked best for her. Judgement and shame from her ex didn’t help, and hours of searching for tips online only made her feel worse as a teenager. Some women struggled to orgasm, and she was one of them. Any possibility of Jaime growing jealous or phobic of a vibrator made Brienne chew the inside of her cheek.

Jaime reached forward and took the vibrator from her hand. Bringing it closer to his face, he examined it. Breath caught in her throat. In Brienne’s mind, he might have seen points of wear, or maybe he planned to say something funny. His thumb explored around it until he pressed the button between the two antennae, turning it on. While it buzzed, he smiled as if he just aced his board exam. “I hope you brought a lot of batteries, then.”

Morning rays lit Jaime’s skin as he reached forward and pulled her down onto him. She yelped, and he gave her a gruff laugh with an evil smile. Her body went rigid and mind went white the moment he pressed the vibrator between her thighs. Seconds passed before she slipped off of his body and they both chuckled, living in a chocolatey bliss. She turned onto her back and spread her legs open, allowing his eager hand to try again with the vibrator while he lay on his side. His eyes bore into her while she bit her lip and drew in deep breaths—releasing whimpers whenever he put the vibrator over just the right spot. 

Her analytical mind worried he didn’t enjoy himself, or feared she was too selfish. But his hard cock pressed against her thigh. Her free hand reached down to grab hold of him, wrapping around his shaft. He leaned closer while she stroked and listened to soft moans whenever her fingers reached his head. Feelings of velvet warmth under her fingertips gave a sense of triumph. Pleasing him stimulated her heart far more than quick pulsing from her toy. 

His lips brushed against her ear. “Gods, I would fuck you all day if I could.”

Jaime’s words made her body hum—nerves kindling while she smelled her own musty arousal. Lazy and tantalizing, he circled the vibrator over her clit. He spared a finger to slip down her cunt, trembling as he almost drowned into her. Neither of them could stand it. Brienne took the vibrator from his hand and turned onto her side, cuddling her back into his chest while he welcomed her. Without words, they spoke well enough. Vibrations pushed her closer, but it hardly compared to the feeling of his cock slowly filling her. He took his time, clenching onto her hip while they joined. Brienne’s fingers tightened against the vibrator and bedsheets. It didn’t surprise her she was sore from the previous night, and sharp, whispering pain turned into loud, addicting pleasure as he thrust into her. Filling her gave her an intensity she hardly knew existed, and she continued climbing and climbing towards her release. Her eyes closed and imagined herself riding his face—

“Fuck, Brienne, I’m not gonna last.”

She tightened around him, and he nipped the skin on her back with a low moan. His words—tension laced in his breathless voice—brought her closer and far faster than expected.

“Brienne,” he moaned, voice warning her he was close.

She held back, peak barely out of reach while his fingertips dug into the side of her hip. His slow thrusts turned erratic and deeper—just what she wanted. It was a fantasy come to life she never knew she had: losing themselves together. Brienne tensed. Just as reality slipped through her fingers, Jaime came. Her cunt clenched around his pulsing cock, coming with him. His moan washed over her back, breath hot and thick. Sheets wrinkled under her tight grip.

Seconds later, their blissful aftermath would have been perfect, except a strong knock on their suite door stunned them both quiet.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “is it 7:30 already?” 

Even after he pulled out, climbed out of bed and slipped boxer-briefs on, Brienne still existed in a dream. She couldn’t believe she came with someone else… at the same time. It had never happened to her before, and Jaime walked over to the door with a nonchalant and mostly naked stride.

“Jaime—wait,” she said, but it came out in a whispered mush. Her raw throat refused to cooperate. She raced to the bathroom in a naked, impressionist blur when Jaime welcomed the person at the door.

He wondered where she went. It took several tries speaking through the closed bathroom door before Jaime heard Brienne well enough to grab an outfit for her. She asked for underwear, bra and PJs. He cracked the door open to hand over mismatched teal short shorts, blue tank top, the thinnest bralette she had and her only thong. _Gods, why?_ She freshened up as well as she could, even as her stomach grumbled. When she exited the bathroom, Jimmy and Jaime chatted on the couch—Jaime still only in his underwear, a model nonetheless. 

Brienne blinked several times while they stopped talking to look at her. “You don’t have clothes on,” she said.

Jaime stood with a smile. “I know, we’re going to film, remember? We should eat while they mic us up.” He was a tall man, yet his eyes managed to sink lower and gazed at her exposed legs. 

Her short shorts barely covered the tops of her thighs. Brienne squeezed them together, only distracted when Jimmy pointed out a tray full of packaged muffins, juice concentrates and green bananas. At least he brought tea for her. Brienne sipped tea and tried to eat a blueberry muffin without sticking crumbs on her face. The camerawoman wrapped a tropical, beige, choker-like necklace around Jaime’s neck, hiding the mic under the necklace. The cord snaked down his back, muscles and all, and Jaime reached around to clip the battery back into his boxer-briefs himself. He did not look or ogle over the quiet camerawoman. Instead, he winced and furrowed his brows at the taste of his coffee. Brienne bit back a smile and chugged some water—feeling thirsty.

They climbed into bed, entering a twilight zone. Jimmy told them to reenact their morning’s conversation and stay close together so Jaime’s mic would pick up her voice. Brienne reddened, cuddling with Jaime halfway under the comforter as if she could hide away. They talked about so many intimate things—

“Morning,” Jaime said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, facing her.

Brienne chewed her cheek while the camerawoman hovered across the room, pointing the camera directly at them. “Morning,” Brienne said, her voice cracking.

Jimmy whispered across the room, “How do you feel?”

Jaime stretched his left arm up and off of Brienne, reaching for the ceiling while he said, “Man, am I _tired._ ”

Bursting out into laughter, Brienne dove into him, trying her best to hide her obvious rash of embarrassment. Every time he smiled, she smiled wider. They filmed a few fake and cringey moments in the bed, but food in her stomach turned rancid when Jimmy said they needed to have quick interviews—alone.

Jaime offered to go first, but she knew she wasn’t immune. She slipped into the bathroom to add a few simple layers of makeup. Over the minutes she fussed and smudged over her face, Brienne bit her lip at their possible questions. If it was anything like the proposal interview… _What are you most worried about? What are you happiest about?_ They knew exactly the right questions to ask. She stared at her own eyes in the mirror. _Makeup won’t help much._

Through the closed bathroom door, Brienne heard Jaime cough inside their suite. Her feet stepped closer to the door and her ear pressed against the wood. Through wood, she heard Jaime say, “In ID the answer is always in the exposure history. You get infected with what you are exposed to. Brienne, fortunately, only has an infectious smile, so I’m safe for now.” 

Smiling, she squished herself against the door to hear more, but it gave way—Brienne tumbled forward with the swinging door. She sounded like a character dying in a B rated horror movie. Her long legs managed to catch her fall, but everyone’s eyes fastened around her.

“Did you get that?” Jimmy asked the camerawoman.

“No, sorry,” the woman said.

Jimmy smiled anyway. “Why don’t we switch? That was great, Jaime. Brienne, you’re up.” 

Brienne nodded, but her glowing ember face gave away her hesitation. _Did I break the door?_ Jaime stood from the couch and walked over, smirking. She blushed harder. 

It took at least a minute for Brienne to control her shallow breathing. Adrenaline from her awkward entrance seeped into her muscles and vessels. The camera’s large lens did not help. Jaime busied himself with a long shower, bathroom door closed, and she missed his comfort.

Jimmy smiled and sat off camera, as if he were a coach. “Still thinking about the bathroom door?”

“Definitely.” _Not at all embarrassed I’m dating out of my league._ It was one thing to spend time with Jaime alone, but it was another world to be around him and others at the same time. Society mattered, and Brienne felt like she was a teenager again, infatuated with some unreachable crush.

Brienne closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath, turning to the camera.

“How was last night? Try to lead in and explain your answer. Talk about feelings.”

_Gods, feelings._ She imagined young women and men watching this show, some hating her and some rooting for her. Emotions drove everything, and she had a lot of them. Her tongue ran over her teeth. She needed to be honest. “Last night was… new and exciting. We—” she stopped, smiled and blushed. “We got to know each other better.” She nodded, and kept nodding… Her mind spiraling into thoughts of him moaning.

Jimmy smiled and asked, “What do you think about your love?”

“Love is sweet... and warm,” she smiled, focusing on the floor. Love felt more real than life itself, like flowers bloomed over her skin.

“What’s your goal right now?” Jimmy asked.

Brienne returned her gaze, able to ignore the camera better than before. “I really want to continue to get to know him and see how we work together.” _I want to know if he really loves me or if this is all just an act._

Jimmy nodded. “What’s your biggest fear?”

This was the first time she had been asked that question since meeting Jaime, and the weight of it suffocated her. “I…” She hated appearing weak. “I’m worried reality or society is going to creep in. No one has any idea I’m in the Summer Isles, no one has any idea I’m engaged…” she grew quieter. “We have no phones still, and while that’s nice… He’s so handsome and I’m—” she needed to remain honest. “I’m not. I hardly believe we’re together. It feels like a dream, and my biggest fear is that it is a dream and nothing more.”

Jimmy nodded, but frowned. “What do you think his biggest fear is?”

She’d forgotten about his fears. He feared rejection, like everyone else. Like her. Taking herself out of her own situation, she wondered if Jaime didn’t want to hurt her feelings. _Maybe he’s waiting to reject me off camera._ The thought, sharp as a pencil, stabbed her. If he rejected her on television, society would butcher him alive. _Is he pretending?_

Brienne blinked, eyes already welling. “I think his biggest fear might be… the wedding.”


	10. Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 should go up this weekend. :)

Beach waves rolled onto shore while Brienne and Jaime shared lunch under a tent printed with flamingos. Their resort prepared far more delicious cuisine than their producers. Breakfast almost made him foam at the mouth, especially due to burned coffee. He expected to turn into a rabid werewolf any minute. His famished gut devoured the roasted pork shoulder stew in front of him. Soaked hominy and chiles danced salsa-style on his tongue. A toasted taro slice crunched between his teeth. Although he would have preferred a beer, refreshing white wine washed it all down. At least Brienne got her favorite type of wine. Her wins were his wins now.

The mic and necklace dangled on his neck, picking up every loud and hurried swallow. Brienne wore a cream colored linen dress—or it looked like a dress. After interviews and before lunch, she made a comment about how it covered her swimsuit. She had said she looked forward to swimming in the ocean, something Jaime remained neutral about. Bugs lived there. Producers wanted to film an hour or two of lunch and swim time before they’d get alone time. For dinner, the mic and filming process would start all over again.

Underneath the table, Jaime’s leg moved back and forth, the same way he fidgeted when he awaited Brienne to speak in the pods. Across the table, between bites, she sent him a soft smile and gazed at his chest. He wore a yellow shirt, but Brienne’s lingering, blank eyes made him hold back a wince. _Does she hate yellow?_ Cersei hated it when he wore yellow. She said he looked like an overripe banana. In truth, he brought so many yellow shirts on this show to piss off his sister.

It didn’t matter. His family didn’t matter. Jaime scooped his last bite of tender pork, praying to the gods it was cooked all the way through, and leaned back into his comfy, lounging chair. With constricted pupils, he saw even more of her pretty blue eyes. Wind from the ocean caressed Brienne’s hair. He wished his fingers were the wind instead. He had one more round in him for the day, he figured. Gods, he didn’t know what to call it. _Fucking? Making love? All of the above?_ This amount of pleasure was sure to be illegal in some countries. He smirked and cocked his head to the side, eyeing her. _I’d last longer._

She cleared her throat, stared at the ocean for a few seconds and kept her back rigid and straight, as if she were a princess. Her behavior gave him pause, and with a full stomach, he was able to see it. He had a large guess at what bothered her most. Jimmy asked them to talk about potential conflicts between them again.

Talking about his family did not interest him, so Jaime leaned into what she liked: planning. “We haven’t talked about this yet,” he said, and she straightened further. “What do you want to do tomorrow for our date? Wobble on a yacht in the ocean? Ride through untouched jungle? Helicopter ride? Another dinner?”

Brienne sipped her wine, already on her second glass. A faint pinkness sprouted over her cheeks and while Jaime found it adorable, her tight facade made him itch his neck. Producers told him not to scratch it, but he didn’t give a damn. She continued to think to herself while Jaime awaited her answer, and the silence led him to chug his own wine glass.

“I’d like to ride horses. What about you?” she said.

“I asked them if we could go to a cave and collect bat samples for research, but they said no.”

She smiled, but didn’t laugh. 

He mistook the loud waves for stealing the sound of her laughter, so he tried again.“To be honest, I’ve never been on any of the Summer Isles. It has some of the most unique ecology there is, which I appreciate. Micro-wise, this place is like an open field for thousands of rabbits and unlimited food.”

Again, she didn’t laugh. Even if he talked about work, she usually engaged with him. This was a curious exception. She smiled and raised her eyebrows, signalling him to keep going. Dropping his figurative speech, Jaime let out a sigh and said, “ _Histoplasma_ is lurking around.” He didn’t mean to scare her, but his words almost scared himself. He had seen the fungus grow in patient’s lungs, reactivate in AIDS patients, sneak into spines and even infect skin and bones 40 years after exposure. Jaime bitterly remembered missing a board question about _Histoplasma_ infecting tongues. He’d never forget it. _Never trust a fungus._

Having not said much, Brienne waited for him to speak again. Jaime cleared his throat and forced a smile. “I know the secret to not catching it.” _The windup—_

“Do tell,” she said.

“It’s simple, really. Just don’t inhale, it’ll get you in trouble.”

She laughed once—a half laugh—and shook her head smiling. Now he had proof something bothered her, but the damn mic choked his neck like a rooster collar. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, furrowing his brow at her. He may have met her less than two weeks ago, but he knew her well enough to know something was wrong. He loved her, she loved him. Here they were, in a beautiful paradise—even if Jaime had something minor to complain about. They had amazing, _amazing_ sex. She came twice, once the night before and this morning— _I should have given her more._

She blinked and finally looked at him. Leaning forward, she reached out her hand for him to hold. It was one of the first times she initiated affection since arriving on the Isles. He accepted her hand while she said, “Sorry—I’m lost in my own thoughts about…” 

“Conflict?”

A weak wince covered her face while she nodded, biting the edge of her lip.

If it weren’t for these cameras, mics and conflicts, he’d lean over, whisper in her ear and make her blush—make her wet—tease her. Instead, they played this awkward voyeur game with this reality show. His motivations for joining the show had long flushed out of his system. Now, he wanted to love Brienne without restraint and the show made it nearly impossible.

“Let’s talk about it,” he said.

Brienne paled over, lips shivering once before she sipped her wine.

“I’m not looking forward to you meeting my family,” he said, frowning and staring at his near-empty plate. “And to be honest, I wish you didn’t have to.”

“Why?” She asked, pursing her mouth. Salty, ocean wind carried hints of wine off her breath and her shoulders caved forward. “Because you think they’ll make fun of me?”

Jaime narrowed his eyes and scooted closer while she leaned back. He managed a singular laugh, although her words hurt him. “No,” he said, “I mean—” he wanted to say more about his father and sister, but the damn mic and cameras— 

“Can we just talk about the elephant in the room, please?” Brienne asked, eyebrows tense and lowered.

Over and over again, she asked about her appearance—as if it _mattered._ Jaime clenched his tight jaw and breathed through a flaring nose. Brienne squinted harder at him. Ready to pop, Jaime yanked his hand away from hers and broke off the necklace wrapped around his neck. The mic fell along with it and the cameraman nearby flailed his arms for help.

He continued to lean over the table while Brienne widened her shoulders. She didn’t scare him. Jaime said, “If you really want to talk about it, here’s what I think. My brother is ugly. He looks ugly. Almost everyone agrees. Cersei is beautiful, almost everyone agrees with that statement, too. On the inside—” he stopped, remembering the mic no longer recorded him. “Cersei is far uglier than Tyrion. To prove my point, my sister has a loveless marriage and my brother’s been happily married for a decade. You could have the prettiest spouse in the world, but what does it matter if you’re not happy? Happiness matters more than anything else.” Jaime snagged his wine glass and peered inside. Empty. He thrust the glass back in its original place, almost breaking it.

Brienne sat still, arms loosely crossed in front of her lap like she was interviewing a patient. “Are you happy?” she asked.

“Playing doctor on me, are you?” Jaime said, grinding his teeth harder by the second. He glowered at her, building as many walls as he needed to defend himself. An invisible fortress sprouted around her, too. Brienne’s words wounded him. He scoffed and said, “You need me to tell you how I feel?” _I show, I don’t tell._ “How many times do you need to hear I’m attracted to you? When will you listen?”

Like cellulitis, of all things, a rapid rash spread over her neck and face. Averting her blue eyes away from him, Jaime clenched his fists to himself. So much was at stake losing her. They were friends, colleagues even—he’d never found a relationship like theirs with anyone else.

Asking them to speak would be as difficult as asking a tree to walk. Both endured several tense minutes of silence. Waves tumbled. Jimmy approached and asked Jaime to put his mic back on. He refused. Convincing lectures about the importance of footage paled in comparison to the rift between his fiancée.

Lunch filming ended early and they walked back to their suite without mics or cameras—without swimming. Brienne said nothing. She still burned red and her lips pressed into a firm, thin line. Jaime couldn’t look her in the eye. Conflict was not a foreign concept to him, and he knew he tended to handle it poorly. But he listened to the whisper in the back of his head. _I’m not giving up yet._

He wanted Brienne to smile—he just didn’t know how. Her sudden distance between him continued as they walked through their door, and the walls couldn’t surround his own swelling emotions.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as she walked over to the bed. Its sheets and comforter still twisted within themselves—evidence of their morning’s adventure. Jaime stood near the door, relaxing his tensing brows on purpose. 

Brienne stopped with her back towards him. Outlines of a black, one-piece swimsuit barely stood out under her cream coverup dress. Even through biting vision, he wanted to explore every unseen detail of her. She turned, eyes narrow, and asked, “Why wouldn’t you want me to meet your family?”

_Because they’ll eat you alive._ Jaime stared ahead, caught between hurting her or giving in—only to hurt her in the future anyway. Meeting his father and his sister would ruin everything. She was a fucking psychiatrist of all things, and one conversation with Cersei or his father would give her a clear path to walk out the door.

Pivoting, she fully faced him from across the room. Broad shouldered and tall, she pressed her lips together. Her cheeks hollowed ever so slightly into her face. “Is it because you’re trying to avoid talking about appearances? Or something else?”

“Something else?” Jaime clenched his fist. His heart whacked against his chest. “I’m avoiding appearances because I don’t know how _you_ want to talk about it.” He raised his voice. “I tried talking about it at lunch and it sounds like it didn’t work.”

“Hold on, you’re changing the subject.” Her condescending tone irked him. “If I’m going to actually marry you then shouldn’t I meet your family?”

_Actually marry me? Why use that word?_ His feet and mind grew roots into the ground, refusing to change. Neither did she. She changed the subject as much as him, making him send her a burning glare. Jaime shook his head with a tight jaw, scowled at the window and said, “This is not going well.”

“What?” She paled over.

His face tightened as he glanced at her. “I’m trying to make you feel better, Brienne. Meeting my family, except Tyrion, will not make you feel better.”

“Can’t I decide that for myself?”

Frowning, Jaime shook his head. “Can’t you trust me? They’re _my_ family.” 

“They’ll be my family soon,” she said. Her lower lip flinched and Jaime closed his eyes. She had a fucking point. He opened his mouth to speak, but Brienne said, “Unless this whole thing is a joke.”

Jaime scowled. “A joke?”

“Why else wouldn’t you want me to meet them?” Her voice quieted. “This whole thing, it—it can’t be real.”

“What isn’t real?”

“Us.”

Her insecurities hit him as if the world turned upside down and the ocean dumped over his head. She feared not being loved. He was naive to think the solution to reassuring her was as simple as _loving_ her. He’d forever be competing against the words of many others in her mind. Jaime’s chest swelled. 

He stepped forward, grimacing. His voice halved in volume. “What do you want? You want me to say you’re beautiful?”

She winced and looked away.

No, she would hate to hear it—she couldn’t even say she was beautiful herself. She considered it lying. One step at a time, Jaime walked closer to her. “You want me to go on some revenge mission against everyone who’s spoken badly about you?”

With a blank stare, she narrowed her eyes, looking down at him as he approached her. 

Tension still soaked the air around them, even though they stood within a breath of each other. One misunderstanding could burn them into the ground. Jaime managed a small smile, ignoring his heart: one thread away from snapping into cardiac arrest. “You want me to publicly declare my love for you on a reality TV show and marry you?”

Brienne softened her eyes, continuing to stare.

“How do you want me to prove this is real?” he asked.

She swallowed. “You love me? Truly love me?”

Her question tasted bitter. By the look of the wrinkle between her brows, he could tell she didn’t believe him. “That’s all you need?” he asked.

She nodded. Brienne’s pressed lips gave him insight into an expression he hadn’t yet seen: fear. In the pods, he heard it in her voice. A quiet tremble. Now, she was small, despite standing taller than him. Her big, blue eyes prepared to hear the worst from him.

Jaime debated rushing in to kiss her, or pressing his forehead against hers. Instead, he locked eye contact with her and said, “I love you. I can’t choose that I love you, I just do. Moments like this don’t change that. Don’t let this show distract you with made up conflicts. I don’t want you to meet my family because I know some of them won’t see or listen to the Brienne I know. I’m worried—” He stopped. Like in the pods, vulnerability crept into their conversation and it felt natural to be there. But in person, after an argument… Jaime’s tongue didn’t want to move.

Brienne’s hand touched his, holding him while his eyes closed. He admitted, “I’m worried they’ll scare you away.”

When he opened his eyes, she parted her lips. She asked in a softer tone, “You think they’ll torture me so much I can’t take it?”

Jaime nodded once. She’d seen many interesting patients in her lifetime, but family members had powers to float through barriers like ghosts. 

“I’m—sorry I didn’t see it from your perspective,” she said. Her words trembled as if they were back in the pods.

Frowning, he whispered, “Don’t be, I didn’t see it from yours either.”

“I still want you to meet my father—”

“Of course.” Jaime squeezed her hand.

“But if it makes you more comfortable to postpone meeting your father and sister, I can do that.”

Leaning forward, he pulled Brienne into a tight hug. His chin rested on her shoulder—an odd sensation and reminder she was taller. Her soft cheek brushed against his forehead, and she reached her arms to embrace him. Jaime turned his head to kiss the side of her neck, feeling softer than he remembered. He whispered against her skin, “It should be your decision. We don’t have to talk about it now. This is exactly what they want. I’m pissed they keep hounding us with questions.”

He knew more were coming. Producers planned another dinner with them for the evening and Jaime hated the idea. He also hated apologizing. But the smell of Brienne’s skin and the feel of her warm hands on his back changed his mind. “I’m sorry for lunch,” he said.

“I survived, but thank you for the apology.” She pulled back while still wrapping her arms around him and gazed at his face. “I feel so… different in front of the cameras. You do much better than me.”

“I’m sure throwing my necklace off like a toddler was much more professional than you sitting calm and pretty.”

She froze for a moment and studied him. Jaime’s throat tightened. After what felt like minutes, she managed a faint smile and said, “Do you… want to lie with me on the bed?”

_Are you trying to seduce me?_ Jaime’s heavy chest implored him to spoil her. “I have a better idea—if you’re interested.”

“What is it?” she asked.

Jaime wanted to take her back to the beach. She agreed. They hopped over their patio walls to avoid seeing the show crew, much to Brienne’s horror. Together, they giggled and sleuthed through resort grounds on their way to toasted sand. She pulled off her swim cover, which blew in the ocean’s wind. Her skin and legs looked like never-ending clouds. When their feet touched waves, her gleeful smile blinded him. He insisted they go waist deep in the water to hide his excitement, but it did little to disguise Brienne’s blush. Colder than they expected, the two of them cuddled for warmth—her long thighs wrapping around him while the ocean pushed and pulled. Jaime kissed salt off her lips.

Their tropical afternoon continued with smiles under umbrellas and a lazy walk back to their suite. Selena waited at their door with a smirk and crossed arms. With it already time to prepare for dinner, he frowned at the realization their alone time had ended.

The sun had already set once they finished dressing into stylish date-night attire and strapping mics into their outfits. Selena told them to walk to the beach for a romantic dinner. When they arrived, they walked into a brightly lit area with catered food, bar, lounge couches and several other couples. Jaime laughed when he saw Oberyn, Sam and the rest of the engaged men. _All except Arys. Not surprised._

Brienne’s mouth fell open as they walked into the group—all of the women huddled around her and gave her a warm hug. Oberyn strolled over to Jaime with a filled champagne flute and a smirk. 

“Nice to see you here,” Oberyn said, handing off the glass. “That’s Brienne?”

The two of them glanced over to the bevy of swans. He only recognized Brienne—wide eyed, smiling and thick in conversation with the women. Jaime smirked. “That’s my Brienne.”

“Congratulations, man.” Oberyn gave Jaime’s back a firm tap and massaged his shoulder. “Your Brienne, though—if you want to share—”

Jaime laughed and shook his head. 

Oberyn chuckled and said, “I’m kidding. Not really.”

Selena waved to get everyone’s attention. Drinks in hand, every couple settled on their own couch and faced the center of the beach deck. Jaime draped his arm around Brienne’s back and navy blue dress. She sat straight, but relaxed her shoulders whenever his hand rubbed her back. 

One by one, each couple was introduced. Sam held hands with Gilly, both looking as if someone told them to smile for class pictures. Drogo sat with his thighs spread, and Dany, a small woman, ran her fingers up and down Drogo’s thigh. Cuddling with a redhead named Sansa, Theon leaned back—so full of himself he was one breath away from exploding. Grey somehow managed to wrap both of his arms around his fiance, Missandei. Oberyn nestled closer to his beau, Ellaria. None of them, men or women, compared to Brienne.

While Selena instructed them to mingle and celebrate, Jaime leaned over to whisper in Brienne’s ear, “I can’t wait to have you alone.”

Blushing, Brienne looked at his gray suit jacket and whispered back, “Mics.”

“I haven’t said anything racy,” Jaime whispered with a smirk. “Yet.”

She elbowed his ribs. 

“Ow!”

Oberyn called out across the deck, “Did you say "shots", Brienne?”

“Yep!” Brienne stood, nearly blocking Jaime’s view with her ass—not a problem he wanted to solve. But she walked towards the other couples and Jaime scrambled up to follow. He found himself watching the other men for their reaction to her. They only smiled at her as she joined the pack of couples, but Jaime still rubbed his own wrist while he waited for Oberyn to hand him a shot glass. 

The group of twelve people leaned in with shot glass clinking, and they shouted cheers to love and marriage. Alcohol burned and trickled down his throat like fire. Although, nothing compared to fire more than Dany, who walked over to Jaime with hard eyes and a tight smile. Last time they spoke, they ended in a heated argument in the pods. 

“You look different than I expected. Were you always this tall?” Dany asked, cocking her head up at him.

“I thought lawyers already knew the answers to their own questions.” Jaime gave a half smile.

Dany laughed and shook her head while they both looked over to their partners, gathered in a larger group with Sam and Missandei. Drogo stood a hair taller than Brienne, but neither of them paid any attention to each other. Brienne chatted with Sam instead, grinning and laughing. Jaime smiled at the sight of her with others, but after hearing her worry of humiliation, he didn’t know if he should give her more space or protect her. If women sized him up, men would size her up as well. In one way or another, all of them dated each other at one point. Dany asked Jaime if he wanted more champagne and he accepted her offer. It gave Jaime a rare moment alone and the temptation to walk over to Brienne—but he decided to give her space and share his wink from afar.

Ocean wind and gossip swirled around them while they ate tacos and sipped champagne. Arys and Arianne broke up, or so Oberyn said. When all of the guys separated to their own cocktail table, producers told them to talk about their first night. Jaime held himself back from rolling his eyes. As expected, Oberyn charmed the men and said, “Let me just say we tried all four corners of that jacuzzi.”

Honest as an angel, Jaime almost choked on his drink and glared at his friend. “You had sex in that thing? Do you know what lives in hot tubs? Little demons waiting turn your flesh to liquid.” Jaime wished he could ask the gods why they invented such a breeding ground for microbes.

“Sounds like a fun time to me.” Oberyn shrugged with a smirk.

Jaime and the other men chuckled. As alcohol relaxed each and every one of his own tight muscles, he smiled more. He liked these guys, and they all got along well enough—especially without Ron or Hyle. Theon tended to brag about himself, and this evening was no exception. He boasted about sleeping with Sansa multiple times. Five sounded unbelievable. Sam and Grey admitted neither of them went all the way, and none of the guys shamed them for it. Drogo revealed his night with a solitary smirk. When everyone’s eyes came to Jaime, several jokes came to his mind, but he lifted his glass as a toast. “It’s the first to many, many nights to come.”

This night, however, dragged on. No one’s glass stayed empty for long and both males and females intermingled. Brienne, Sansa and Theon popped open another bottle of champagne. Grey, Drogo and Sam’s conversation dragged into the history of Essos, failing to interest Jaime. He walked over to Brienne, Theon and Sansa while they giggled and spilled champagne foam.

Theon offered to fill Jaime’s glass, and he accepted. Sansa whispered for them all to look across the deck. Each pair of eyes glanced over to see Oberyn and Ellaria making out on one of the couches—all to themselves. 

Jaime nodded and sipped his drink with buzzing lips, one of the first signs he tiptoed into drunk territory. A couple more sips and he would be done—just in case. He had no problem having sex while drunk, but he would rather enjoy and remember it. Brienne sent him a shy look and gazed at her drink while Sansa and Theon drifted closer to each other. After clearing his throat, Jaime referred to the locking lips couple and said, ”He’s growing on her like listeria on cheese at room temperature.”

Sansa side eyed him while Theon snorted in agreement.

Brienne flushed, alongside a mismatched smiling sneer. “I always wondered why you had few friends.” She joked with him, he knew that well enough. Her voice sounded deeper, raspier—and the smell of alcohol wafted off her breath. He could only hope she drank out of celebration and not fear, but he wasn’t sure.

“You’ve had more drinks than I have real friends,” Jaime said, “it’s true.”

“Drinks!” Brienne said, eyes widening. “What drink do you want? I can make you anything.”

“Anything?” Jaime said, smirking. His free hand snaked around her back, gliding across the small curve of her waist. She didn’t slur her words, not yet at least, but her body felt hot to the touch. “You know how I like my drinks,” he said, turning his head to watch her reaction. “Deep fried.”

Brienne curled her lip and snarled her teeth with a firm shake of her head. “You’re ridiculous. Not only does that sound horrible, it’s impossible.”

Her exaggerated reaction made Jaime laugh. “Have you ever had them?”

“No,” she said under her breath. She yanked the champagne bottle from Theon and poured it into an empty glass on the table next to her. Her behavior made Jaime laugh. The glass foamed and foamed, bubbles swarming to the top in order to escape. Brienne offered the new glass to Jaime, not noticing he already had one. She asked, “Have you?”

Through a smirk, Jaime accepted the glass and set it down. “You talk with Dany too much.” 

Brienne laughed when Jaime set down his second glass and her laughter was so loud Sam and Drogo looked over with curious smiles. She hardly noticed, but Jaime chuckled with her. “You’re having fun,” Jaime said.

Simmering down into a bright smile, Brienne wobbled closer. It reminded him of his nights in the emergency department. Female and male patients sometimes came onto him during their alcohol induced stupor. But Jaime smiled at Brienne, and it was another data point to ensure he truly loved her. Her happiness made his heart sing.

“Are you having fun?” Brienne asked, biting her bottom lip between her teeth.

Jaime reached up with both hands, cupping her face—leaning in to kiss her. Fruity, wine esters slipped from her thick lips and onto his own. She wasn’t just sweet, or tangy—she was comforting—like a warm blanket in a snowstorm. His chest swelled when she curved her body closer to his. Between the softness, heat and taste of her, nothing else in the world existed. Her lips lingered for a second longer, pulling back while she opened her eyes.

“Now I am,” Jaime whispered. He stretched onto his tiptoes to kiss her again— 

“Stop,” Brienne said before she smiled, reddening. “Before we—”

“Are you embarrassed?” Jaime licked his lips while she stared at him and blinked. Her cheeks saturated two-fold.

“No,” she said in a deep tone. 

Jaime restrained a chuckle and he gazed at her with a suspicious smile. He’d seen and been around enough drunk people to know when they were lying. 

Her brow wrinkled into a tight frown, however, the edge of her lips curled into a suppressed smirk. Brienne’s eyes shifted around until she whispered, “A little.”

Her lie was a false alarm, and her drunk honesty was as endearing as the flashing diamond on her left hand. Jaime felt like humming or singing, but she had already been embarrassed enough. 

“Aren’t you?” Brienne asked.

“I’ll never be embarrassed by you.”

Her smile was a bright balloon, lifting and lifting.


	11. Brienne

Jaime leaned closer, pecked Brienne’s cheek and whispered, “Remember what I said earlier.”

As he pulled back and winked, she remembered through her sponged brain soaked in alcohol. He said all the right things. Deliciously right things, even after their first argument. _He called me pretty._ Biting back her smile, Brienne lingered eye contact with him as Oberyn and Ellaria beckoned him over to chat. When their connection broke, she continued to watch him as he smiled towards Ellaria and Oberyn, a fierce looking man with dark hair.

Every engaged man was here. She scanned the beach deck, over men and cameras, but her eyes always came back to Jaime. No one said a thing to Brienne about being ugly, but every man mentioned her height. Drogo, taller than her, mumbled his surprise. She wondered, for a moment, what people at home watching this show would think. _The handsomest man made a mistake picking the ugliest woman._

It was a struggle not to cope through drinking. It loosened her mind in poor and beneficial ways, giving her easy insight to deeper fears. She’d never felt this joyous before, but the perfect fit of everything made her paranoid—as if she was in a double blind study to see how long Jaime could fake his love for her. She knew it made no sense and it had no evidence. _What evidence do you have this is a long lasting relationship?_ Brienne chewed her cheek, dry and thirsty. _Is he actually going to marry me?_ Jaime had yet to see her at her worst… and what would he do then? They knew almost everything about each other, but their biggest challenge was a film crew—not exactly a practical test of a relationship.

His sudden laughter pulled her out of her inward mess and into a smile, though she had no idea what he found amusing. She couldn’t hear the trio’s conversation over beach waves and Sansa’s conversation with Gilly beside her. Missandei and Dany paired up with their fiances. Everyone was having a great time overall, including Brienne, if she could stay out of her thoughts. The rollercoaster emotions of alcohol made her reach for a water bottle. There were five sources of alcohol for every source of water.

“Such a doctor—drinking water,” Sansa said, leaning into Brienne’s view with a smirk.

Brienne laughed lightly and looked around. Sansa had easily become a new best friend since starting the show. She whispered, “Where’s Theon?”

“Bathroom,” Sansa said, turning to the table and reaching over to prepare herself another taco.

_What a great idea._ Brienne leaned over and mirrored her friend’s choices, piling on a spoonful of seasoned beef, tomato rice and lettuce onto a corn tortilla.

“So… last night,” Sansa said, eyeing Brienne from the side. “How many times?”

Already flushed from drinking, a sudden cackle flapped out of her mouth by the time she thought to stop it. Sansa smirked and tapped Brienne’s thigh with her hip. After a deep breath, which did nothing to simmer down her blush, Brienne whispered loudly, “Once... And once this morning.”

“Gods, I’m jealous. Theon passed out after one and we woke up late today. He’s still drinking so I’m not sure tonight will work either.”

“My patients say drunk sex can be great—if they can get it up.”

Both of them giggled. 

Sansa said, “Morning always comes. Cheers either way.”

“Yes, cheers,” Brienne said, clinking her plastic water bottle with Sansa’s champagne flute. “Just remember water and ibuprofen help.”

Beside them, Missandei, Grey and Dany talked about gentrification throughout King’s Landing. Brienne joined in for a bit, but her eyes drifted towards Jaime like they were magnets. Across the deck, his white button up shirt had been partially undone, giving her a perfect, teasing glance at his bare clavicle. Sam and Gilly’s goodbyes for the night were music to her ears. Selena and other producers came down to take mics off and finish filming. Almost everyone scattered away like birds, except Dany, Missandei and their fiances, who stayed behind to chat.

Through humid, chilled air, Jaime and Brienne wrapped their arms around their backs during their walk. Her own words lingered in her mind, and her eyes wandered to him—gazing at his hair, his face, his smirk. Her hand slipped under his suit jacket and down the valley of his back. Heat from his body made her stomach flutter and body stumble closer. Jaime paused with a brief smile, and she realized he had been talking and summarizing his conversations while she stared at him, unable to listen. Concentrating was harder than she anticipated. Brienne leaned part of her weight on him, feeling his shoulder bounce with each of his chuckles. Her heavy eyes wanted to sleep, but she wanted to lose herself in him—on him. Pin him onto the bed and have amazing drunk sex.

Upon entering their suite, noxious pins dug under her skin. Brienne curled her lip and covered her eyes with her hand. Her entire core twisted and saturated in nauseating bleach. Moving one foot forward felt like an impossible, heavy task. 

From across the room, Jaime asked, “Water? I can order cheese sticks. Fried food?”

Brienne blinked through bright lights, barely about to see Jaime walking over towards her. She chewed her tongue, but it only made her feel worse. Each pounding heartbeat tightened her throat to the point of retching and gagging—Brienne rushed over to the bathroom and closed the door, abandoning Jaime. Instinct drove her to flip up the toilet seat and curl over the toilet bowl, and scents of cleaner hurled her over the edge. Hands gripping the bottom of her dress, she closed her eyes and her body did the rest. Her diaphragm and abdomen muscles forced chunks of hot food and liquid up her throat, falling into the toilet with plops and splatters. 

She continued to retch, even after Jaime’s hands gently held her hair and rubbed her back. Acid floated from the piles of orange and yellowish mush. Bile coated her teeth and entire mouth, even after she tried to spit it out. Another wave hit her, and she vomited again. Jaime said nothing, or she barely heard him—she wasn’t sure. 

“Hold on—” she heard.

Rushes of blood to her head made her dizzy, and the day’s toll begged her to quit.

“Here—” 

A towel sprouted underneath her mouth, catching lingering trails of yellow spit.

In the fog, Jaime offered her water, helped her pee, and guided her to the bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this sick or drunk. _Another moment ruined._ Brienne grumbled against her pillow and closed her eyes. She heard him laugh.

Sansa was right. Morning came, always. Brienne awoke to daylight and smells of bacon and buttered toast next to the right side of the bed, along with a cup of cold tea and a bottle of ibuprofen. _Shit._ She hoped last night was a nightmare—it wasn’t. Jaime was nowhere to be seen, but her face erupted into a bright blush regardless. Her aching eyes focused on her engagement ring, replaying how he comforted her last night. She loved him, and those moments only made her love him harder. If only she knew how he reacted…

She meandered into the bathroom, doing her best to push through the dull pain radiating across her forehead. It could have been the alcohol—gods knew she felt like she stepped into a dunk tank when they arrived at dinner last night. Now dunked, she couldn’t surface through the water enough to breathe. _Where is Jaime?_

Brienne brushed her teeth, ate breakfast, swallowed pills and brushed her teeth again for good measure. Her throat thickened with worry. Jaime still wasn’t there. As her headache faded, she dressed into her _actual_ pajamas and tossed her dress of stench far away and out of sight. She sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if his side of the bed still smelled like him.

The door opened.

Brienne wanted to attack him with hugs, kisses and “I love you”, but her posture slumped and eyes looked down as he entered.

“Morning,” he said, closing the door as quietly as he could. “Did you eat?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Did you get enough sleep? How are you feeling?”

She raised her eyes to look at him. He wore a plain black t-shirt and jeans, still sexier than ever. She could never live up to him. “I did. Better.” 

Her heart fell so hard for him she knew her it enmeshed and lost itself somewhere along the way. Nothing scared her more than realizing her heart beat for another person entirely. _No, him not loving me is scarier._ Happiness from love and fear of rejection made her act like a completely different person. She swallowed and asked, “How are you?”

“I wasn’t the one with emesis,” Jaime said.

Brienne sighed and stared at the ground. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t blame you. They were practically hiding water from us. I just chewed them out. Might have been food, too. I don’t usually cradle or help patients when they vomit all over me, but I’m used to the vomit part and you’re not my patient. I’ve been vomited on, pussed on, you name it. Nothing’s worse than diabetic foot pus flying across the room. Mmm. Diabetic foot.”

He loved talking and a smile touched her lips. 

His eyes caught sight of hers and he smiled back, softening his brows. “I stand corrected—diabetes not diabetic. You hate “ic” words. Old habits die hard. I’m old, remember?”

“You’re not old,” she said, scooting her seat to the edge of the bed. Hearing him recall earlier conversations from when they first met gave her skin a fuzzy feeling. It felt like years ago. _Not even a month._

“I suppose not. Filming a massage and our horse riding date later today makes me feel old. I haven’t had more than a couple hours with you alone.”

She agreed, although she had little power to change their schedule. Contacts and agreements had already been signed when she agreed to come on this reality show—all for the sake of love. Now it may have been her biggest mistake in her life. “When are they coming?”

“Within the hour.”

Brienne nodded while her heart ached. Every minute mattered. And between filming, arguing and vomiting, she didn’t want to waste any more time. She bit her lip, thinking about ravaging him. From across the room, he narrowed his eyes with a half-smile. _Why wait?_ Brienne wet her lips and inhaled a slow and steady breath. “Take your shirt off.”

He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brows—mouth rising into a smirk. “What?”

Brienne’s pulse surged as if she were a patient on a stimulant—Jaime was her drug of choice. “Get over here and take your clothes off. All of them.” Her voice remained firm, but she said it with a mild grin.

Jaime toyed around, half peeling up his shirt and threatening to keep his socks on. Disgusting—and laughable. Somehow, he tickled her without touching her. Goosebumps rolled over while he undressed, and he purposefully left his boxer-briefs on to tease her. There was something about seeing a powerful man, muscles and all, walking forward with a gentleness so warm she might melt. Jokes and giggles stopped when his hands slowly stripped her of her clothing—tanned fingers spreading over her porcelain skin. 

Knocks on the door generated groans from both of them, followed by instant pouts. Jaime swooped to kiss Brienne’s forehead, a soft gesture, and he climbed out of bed. The heat from him hovering over her naked body left shortly thereafter, but her eyes followed him as he slipped a white robe on and tied it closed.

“Stay there,” Jaime said, “it’s fine. I’ll tell them to come back later.”

Brienne’s chest swelled. _You’d do that for us?_ Part of her wanted to frown for going against her word. She agreed to cooperate with the show and this decision was taboo to her. Instead of grimacing, she crawled halfway under the flat sheet, covering her thighs. Her back rested against the headboard. Every cell of hers wailed for Jaime to come back.

Jaime opened the door, and by his mere voice, she knew something was wrong. “What are you—Don’t come in—” he said.

Brienne gasped and pulled the sheet to hide her breasts as an older, balding man walked into their room. He wore a blue dress shirt, golden tie, black slacks and dress shoes. His squinting eyes gave her a hard look. 

“Get out,” Jaime said, voice low and threatening.

The man turned his attention to Jaime, clenching his own jaw and narrowing his eyes further. “A moment alone, please,” he said, deeper tone than Jaime.

Brienne controlled her breathing with deep breaths, analyzing the reaction between this man and Jaime. He was tall, like Jaime. Whiskers floofed around the sides of his head like a groomed dog. He was no poodle, however—he was a lion.

“No,” Jaime said, ”you’re intruding on our moments alone.” He tried to keep his voice calm, and he managed to achieve his goal well enough. But his firm finger pointed in this man’s direction. That meant only one thing. This was Jaime’s father. 

His father scowled and turned to face Jaime. “You gave up that right when you decided to whore around on a TV show.”

Closing her eyes, Brienne compartmentalized her emotions deep within herself and turned them off—just like at work. This man was upset, combative and thought it necessary to force himself into his son’s life. But he didn’t scare her. He intrigued her. She bit the inside of her cheek, straightened her posture and opened her eyes—watching them. 

“What’s her name?” Jaime’s father asked, speaking as if she wasn’t there in front of him.

Jaime’s jaw tightened before he said, “I’m not telling you.”

This man could not be calmed, she assumed. If verbal anger escalated into physical anger, she had no nurses, techs or B52 injections to sedate him. Brienne strategized for the worst, but the key to handling these situations was not to overreact. Revealing her fear or confronting patients often led to them exploding further. A self-fulfilling prophecy. She glanced at the phone on the nightstand. She could call security, if needed, but his question wasn’t unreasonable.

So, she gave this man what he wanted. She gave a steady answer. “Brienne Tarth.”

Jaime closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“Like the bankrupted island?” Jaime’s father said, an air of surprise in his voice.

Shaking her head, she said, “Distant relation.”

The man’s eyes tightened beside harsh wrinkles. “Do you have an obsession with fame?”

Jaime said, “You’re thinking of Cersei.”

“While you frolic around on some show who steals your body and mind for their own profit.” Jaime’s father turned to glare at his son. “Strangers can’t be trusted. Anyone without money takes it, and that includes your pockets.”

Jaime moved closer, equally matching his father’s scowl. “Brienne will make more money than me in a few years.”

“She’ll take half of your money when you divorce in six months. I heard you matched with someone and came to see for myself. All I see is the same mistake Tyrion made. You have a duty to our family. Tyrion never understood that, but you will. Both of you and your brother's choices will do nothing but hurt us.”

“Tysha couldn’t hurt a fly,” Jaime said, eyebrows narrowing closer. 

“When the time is right, I’m sure she’ll become the fly, maggoting our fortune until there’s nothing left for us.” His bored voice spoke as if he already knew the future. He no longer looked at Brienne, giving Jaime scrutinizing glares instead. “Don’t make me have this conversation again with you.”

“Get out,” Jaime said.

Jaime was right—this man needed to leave. Brienne wouldn’t say it quite so directly, but the meaning still applied. She had mountains of intentions to analyze: this man’s reaction to her and this man’s reaction to his son’s life choices. A happy father-in-law relationship seemed near impossible based on the fact he despised Tysha—who had done nothing wrong, according to Jaime. Brienne’s heart wept for her missed chance at gaining a loving parent. But the rain inside her mind felt like a sprinkle when she looked at Jaime, who poured. He glowered towards his father, veins pulsating on his neck and clenched fists. This was only a few minutes with this man. _Imagine years._ She frowned, wondering how this man’s pressure and shame hurt Jaime. He looked like he might crack open into a volcano. 

After a silent moment, Jaime’s father gave one last judging eye towards Jaime and stepped towards the door. He stopped halfway, turned and said to Jaime, “The silver lining in all of this is that your mother isn’t alive to see this train wreck happen.”

Jaime stared ahead, shrinking within himself. He held his expression forward, even after his father left the room and the door clicked shut. His chest barely moved as if he suddenly turned into a statue frozen in deep, obsessive thought. 

Brienne stepped out of bed and approached him, but his eyes refused to move. The moment she reached her hand out to touch his shoulder, Jaime stepped away and walked to the patio. Each step away from her cut into her heart deeper and deeper. His father’s words hurt Brienne, even if he didn’t mean them for her. Maybe he did. Jaime’s hands gripped the wall of the patio while he stared at the ocean—wind stroking his hair.

She didn’t just want Jaime to feel better, she wanted to help him feel better. If only she knew how. She could follow him, hug him, support him, but he had walked away. Boundaries needed respect. Brienne walked back to the bed. Filming the rest of the day sounded as fun as a trip to the bank. 

Brienne leaned over and picked up the phone, dialing the front desk. Jaime remained on the patio behind her while rings pulsed in her ear—Brienne wanted to give him privacy. When someone answered, she asked for Selena, Jimmy or any available producer. Her heart galloped inside her chest.

“Hello? Brienne?” Selena said through the phone.

“Hi. I was—I wanted to see if we could postpone the massage and horse riding today for tomorrow.”

“Why? Is everything okay?”

_Shit._ She had a choice: tell the truth about his father’s blow up or... lie. Brienne winced. “I’m not feeling well and I really think it would be great for me to spend a day recovering—without cameras.” 

Far easier than expected, Selena agreed and said she’d shift around the schedule to accommodate her request. Brienne offered her thanks and faked a cough—gods, she sounded like one of her patients. _Even an ACE inhibitor cough sounds more realistic than this._

“Thank you again, Selena, we’ll see you tomorrow,” Brienne said, “Bye.” She placed the phone back, ending the call. When she looked over her shoulder, Jaime was at the screen door to the patio, looking into their suite and staring at Brienne. _Did he hear me?_

Slowly, Brienne stood and rotated to face him. A light breeze from outside washed over her naked skin, and for once, she wasn’t embarrassed at all for Jaime to see her. Her eyebrows curved and sympathized with him. “I’m so sorry he said those things to you.”

His thumbs hooked into his bathrobe sash, fingers tapping quickly. He didn’t say a thing. Jaime looked at the floor before turning his eyes towards hers. He walked forward and across the room as if he had enough determination to move mountains—towards _her._ She stiffened and widened her eyes, unsure what he was doing. 

Jaime clasped Brienne’s face and kissed her. A river, he swept her with him. His urgency pressed her deeper underwater to the point she let every worry and responsibility float away. Lips and tongue tasted masculine, woodsy and fresh. His sand stubble rubbed against her cheek. The moment she tried to match his rousing passion, his hands changed course and yanked off his robe. He broke off the kiss to shove down his briefs and Brienne opened her eyes to see him hard and ardent. His eyes said it all as he crashed forward to kiss her again, wanting her so badly he couldn’t wait—and neither could she.

Her hands rolled onto his back, curling over carved muscles. From her thighs, Jaime grunted and lifted Brienne into his arms. In a state of weightlessness, she plunged onto the bed. He dove after her, kissing up her thighs and nipping the skin on her hip while she wiggled and arched against him. Her fingers trickled up his arm, following the maze of his vein. Sounds of his lips kissing her skin made her eyes close and vision shimmer. His warm, wet tongue trailed onto her chest and over her nipple—they both moaned. His lips might have felt her own heart crashing like a falling waterfall.

Rising, Jaime pinned her twisting body under his. Brienne curved with him, biting her swollen lip while she reached down to pull him closer. Every point of skin contact rumbled louder when he slipped a hand between her thighs. He moaned at how wet she was. She gripped his ass and he gripped her face, compelling her to turn her face towards his. His heavy eyes ogled over her face. Brienne couldn’t stand it anymore. She kissed him. He moaned, flattened his body against hers to get as physically close to her as possible. She spread her thighs and his cock sank into her. Jaime broke their kiss to bury his face against her neck and thrust hard. She lost her breath, unable to think about anything except her blissful drowning in him. Their bodies rolled together, him dragging her deeper and deeper under current—completely enveloping her. His breath came in big, ragged gasps and sighs over her neck. She wrapped her arms across his back and dug her nails into his skin as he thrust.

He breathed, “Hold me closer.”

Brienne embraced him from below, wrapping her long legs around his thighs as his hands reached under her, holding her ass. Turning her head, her nose brushed against his stubbled cheek, and he greeted her as if parched. They kissed and he thrust, grinding into her as deeply as he could without lifting his body off of hers. Brienne whimpered. He broke the kiss and held her tighter. She could barely hear her own breath while he roared and buried his cock in her with one final thrust, spilling into her. His own pleasure soaked into her body, soul and mind. His weight made her feel safe and isolated—nothing could touch her but him. It was one of the best feelings in the world. He did have the power to move mountains.

“Thank you,” he whispered, still breathless.

Brienne fixed her eyes on the cream ceiling, lips parted. She wondered why he thanked her. Her calling out sick? Her sleeping with him? Her loving him? Either way, she appreciated him as well.

Jaime slumped to the side, holding her waist with one soft hand. “I can’t wait to do this all day.”

He _did_ hear her before. Brienne turned her head to gaze at him and smiled. She doubted there were words accurate enough to describe her love for him. He was a passionate, loving man even in the face of danger. Yet, Jaime was vulnerable enough to warn her ahead of time of his family, and she almost refused to listen. She wanted to reach as deep into her own vulnerabilities, despite her fear he didn’t share the same desires. Amidst a faint smile and quivering lips, she inhaled a shallow breath and whispered, “I can’t wait to do this for the rest of our lives.”


	12. Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up as the wedding approaches! Next chapter should post this weekend. It's another long one. :) <3

Through massages, riding horses, picnics and lots and lots of sex, Jaime and Brienne enjoyed the remainder of their days on the Summer Isles. His father visiting was a hiccup, and instead of driving Brienne farther away from him, she came closer. _She lied for me._ It meant everything to Jaime.

Tywin was a multidrug resistant bacteria, always avoiding the world’s best weapons. Brienne and Jaime talked extensively about his father and how he liked to control things. It wasn’t a surprise at all he used his connections to find Jaime’s room and confront him. Brienne wondered if Tywin would rather Jaime marry a millionaire—and she was right. One of Jaime’s motivations to join the show was to piss off his father but the reward tasted bittersweet.

Rain pattered against the window, and Jaime glanced over to see water trickle down the glass. They arrived at their new apartment the night before, and poor weather welcomed them in King’s Landing. Producers wanted the couples to have a neutral space together before their weddings, only 20 days away. The apartment looked nice enough, but it felt like another hotel. It had a dine-in kitchen, updated appliances, small living room area with a couch, TV and one bedroom. Jaime didn’t give a shit about the walk-in closet. Living on the third floor, a clear view of Rhaenys Hill stuck out through dreary clouds and fog. His eyes turned to the wall beyond the foot of the bed. There was a large mirror instead of a TV, much to Brienne and Jaime’s delight. Images of her bent over the bed while he drove into her still flashed in his mind—and she watched in pleasure, too.

He turned to face her on the left side of the bed. It was late morning—clouds refused the sun’s participation. Brienne sat on the bed and leaned against the headboard, her eyes focused on patient charts on her glowing laptop. _She is a goddamn workaholic._ It made Jaime smile. The night before, they filmed Jaime and Brienne eating curry take-out, cringey moments and they even asked Jaime to throw her on the bed. He nearly threw out his back, but they had fun.

“Sorry,” Brienne said, glancing over at Jaime. “I need to catch up on all these charts if I’m going to work tomorrow. This is the only time I have today.”

_Such is the life of a resident._ She had almost three weeks to catch up on missed work. Jaime had his own mountains of case studies and reports to read, but his vacation lasted a few days longer. He read a few journal entries on his phone after waking, and he ignored missed calls and texts from his father, Cersei and Tyrion. Nerves tickled and ached, knowing he was set to meet Brienne’s father and best friend _today._ He couldn’t focus.

He reached out to rub her thigh. “I’ll get you some tea.” She had been reading through patient notes for two hours. 

“I’m almost done.” Brienne said, extending her hand out to touch his. Jaime paused, halfway between sitting and laying down. Her eyes continued to dance across the screen in front of her, working with determination that almost made him jealous. _Would she kill me if I threw her laptop across the bed and ate her out?_ Jaime smirked. _Yeah, she would._ Jaime smirked harder. He went down at her in Walano and she wiggled and tensed, saying it tickled. 

Brienne’s mouth opened and she blinked. “Wow, he’s back.”

“Who’s back?”

“The burrito bomber.”

Jaime cocked his head to the side, losing his devious thoughts in an instant. “The who?”

“He’s an older guy with schizophrenia. Well, technically schizoaffective disorder.” Brienne peered over while Jaime sat next to her. “One of his delusions was that the government was after him. So he sent them a burrito and said it was filled with C4 explosives. It was just a bean burrito, but the government sent him to prison over it. It never ceases to amaze me that some patients have these really far fetched ideas like the government is after them, but then they do something to make the government actually go after them. It’s hard to help their delusions after that. Anyway, it sounds like he enucleated his own eye.”

“By himself?” Jaime furrowed his eyebrows and intensified his stare towards Brienne. It couldn’t have been possible. A patient pulled out his own eye? 

“That’s what the note says. He claimed government devices were in the eye, so he took it out.” Brienne narrowed her gaze at the laptop screen. “I’m going to guess he was not compliant with meds.”

“Tell him to keep his clozapine pills in his eye socket, he’ll never forget them.”

“Close. It says he keeps coins in there. He’s not on clozapine either.”

“In his eye socket? You can’t make this shit up.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Brienne said, her voice soft. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”

Jaime sent her a soft smile, but she was too engrossed in her work to see it. Her power to still have compassion for her patients in such an emotionally draining field made him proud. _If I were any more fucked up, she’d still care about me._

On her nightstand, Brienne’s phone buzzed, and illuminated with the sound “Wee!” from one of those silly phone games called Angry Ravens. She leaned across and peered at her phone. “Producers say they’ll be by in an hour to set up.”

_Oh, fuck._ Jaime’s leg shook under the comforter, but it wasn’t enough to soothe him. His fingers tapped and rolled on his forearm. This wasn’t just any day for filming—he was about to meet Brienne’s _father_ and her _friend_ from med school. And it was going to be filmed! If meeting Selwyn was going to wind up as badly as Brienne meeting Tywin—

Brienne set her phone down and said, “They also said a delivery was dropped off at the door—what did you ask for?”

Averting his eyes away from her squinting expression, Jaime let out a strangled laugh and clambered out of bed. His mind already obsessed about what he would wear to increase his chances of impressing Brienne’s father. But then again, he would come off too strong if he wore a tux. He wore long, gray sweat pants and black t-shirt. 

“Jaime?”

“I’m going to the front door, it’s a surprise.” Jaime forced a smile and walked out of the bedroom, through the kitchen and opened the front door. Sitting outside their door and in the carpeted hallway was a box and a bag full of groceries. Jaime dragged everything in, trying to ignore the constant buzzing of anxiety on his fingertips. He spread every ingredient out on the kitchen counter and smiled. _Perfect._

“What is this?” Brienne asked with a suspicious eye and smile, stepping away from the bedroom. She wore a pastel blue t-shirt and black pajamas. If it weren’t for the cold weather, he’d ask her to wear short shorts again. Approaching the kitchen table, she frowned and said, “Angel food cake? Powdered sugar? Limes? Tequila and—oil?”

“Ta-da!” Jaime spread his arms open with a smile. “Let’s make them—now.”

“Make what?” Brienne said, stifling a giggle. “A heart attack?”

“Deep fried drinks.” This was the perfect way to distract his mind from the eventual doom destined for him.

Brienne smirked. “Our apartment will smell like tequila.”

“Audience at home won’t know. Will your dad mind?”

“No, he’ll want to try them.”

“Perfect,” Jaime said, popping open the tequila bottle.

His goal may have been to calm down and make deep fried tequila shots, but somewhere along the line, a mess started. While Brienne waited for oil to heat up in the deep fryer, Jaime flattened the box it came in and stuffed it in the recycling container. She took his cleanliness as a federal offense, and thus began an argument about whether to keep original boxes or recycle them.

“We’re going to move in a few weeks, we should keep it,” she protested.

“Last time I checked,” Jaime said, “there are many other boxes in the world and that box has no business cluttering up our home.”

“I like keeping original boxes.”

“I don’t.”

Jaime tightened his jaw and let out a sigh through his nose. Someone knocked on the door. Having learned his lesson in Walano, he peered through the peephole and saw Jimmy and a set of crewmembers. Jaime opened the door and said with a smile, “That was a quick hour.”

“We came early because of the weather,” Jimmy said, his blond hair wet and flat against his forehead. “We can come back later?”

Jaime considered telling them to fuck off, but he welcomed any distraction. Besides, they had been nice, especially since Jaime’s blow up on the Summer Isles. Their motivations to film the most interesting parts of Brienne and Jaime’s relationship never changed. While annoying, he grew used to the cameras. Brienne smiled and waved from in the kitchen while four people dragged equipment inside.

Looking at the fryer and tequila, Jimmy said, “I always thought you were joking, Jaime.”

Jaime returned to the counter and cut cubes of angel food cake. “When have I _ever_ joked?”

“I thought he was joking.” Brienne smirked and shrugged. She eyed Jaime, teeth dipping into her bottom lip. Turned to Jimmy, she dropped her expression and asked, “Want me to invite them over early since you’re here early?”

Jaime poured the bag of powdered sugar into a bowl and nearly coughed at her statement. Puffs of white dust floated from the bowl like a sneeze. _Early?_ His throat swelled and his fingers clenched the empty sugar bag.

“No need,” Jimmy said, “we can set up angles and prep for the meeting. You’ll need time to get dressed, too. Mind if we film you right now? This looks fun. No audio.”

While Brienne nodded, Jaime asked, “Three cameras today?”

Jimmy smiled. “It’s a big event.”

_Thanks for reminding me._

Brienne poured tequila into a shallow bowl and two individual shots. She scooted the glass shots towards Jaime and he took the hint. Together, they clinked the shot glasses together and shouted cheers, trying their best to ignore the _four_ people and _three_ cameras invading their living room.

A heavyweight, Jaime pushed through the burning down his throat, pushed through the lenses recording them and pushed through the idea both their parents might forbid their relationship. He refused to let anything intrude on their happiness. Brienne’s ogles and hand on his back reminded him to breathe through his fears—a fear he never knew existed: her father’s rejection. 

“Okay,” he said once everything was prepped. He talked well enough to hide his nervousness—he hoped. “Cake is cut, oil is hot, let’s dip this in…” Jaime dipped a strainer full of cubed cake into a large bowl full of tequila. _Thank the gods for a video demonstration of this._ Brienne watched him as he pulled the strainer and cake out of the bowl. It dripped and smelled of sweet agave. Jaime cleared his throat and looked at the deep fryer. Heat radiated close to his hand. 

“The key is to not freak out when you dip it into the oil. It may flash.” _Now or never._ Jaime dunked the tequila soaked cake into the hot oil. Sizzles sparked—flames engulfed and spread up and out—spilling loud pops of gods knew what as the fire grew and grew. Jaime freaked out and pulled it away.

Brienne burst into laughter as the flames disappeared. “You just screamed!”

“I did not,” Jaime said, frowning. “It was the fire.”

Brienne mumbled something about gaslighting and it took three tries before Jaime fried the cubes correctly. The crew, Jaime and Brienne beheld the golden brown cubes with white powder dusted on top. Together, everyone grabbed a cube, smiling or wincing, and plopped the oil-fried sin in between their lips. It crunched in Jaime’s mouth—warm, sweet and tart with a melty, alcohol drenched center worthy of a deep moan. Brienne shared a smirk with Jaime as she chewed and covered her mouth. She nodded and raised her eyebrows. A couple crewmembers coughed and mentioned the alcohol content. _All part of the plan._

A few servings of deep fried drinks on an empty stomach, along with the shot he had earlier, left him buzzed and relaxed. _Finally._ But when Jimmy said they needed to start getting ready, Jaime’s heart beat faster. _Fuck._

Brienne and Jaime descended into their bedroom and bathroom, and he took a quick shower while she dressed and applied makeup. Hot water did nothing to help relax his nerves. Her eyes gave him a heavy stare when he exited the shower. Dark skinny jeans wrapped around her legs, cinching into her waist. A plain, white and simple blouse made her elegant, and when she realized he stared at her equally as long, she offered a small smile. He dried himself off and dressed in khaki pants and light blue dress shirt—keeping quieter than normal. Gods only knew what he would say if he opened his mouth. He usually talked up a storm when nervous, but this was another level. It felt like interviewing for residencies or med school. 

His hair had almost dried by the time he finished. Examining himself in the bathroom mirror, not a single stubble on his chin, neck or face stood out of place—he triple-checked. _Time for mics._ Jaime turned off the lights to the bedroom and reached out to open the bedroom door, but Brienne’s hand flattened against the white door to keep it closed. Jaime tilted his head to the side and he furrowed his brow.

Twisting her smile, Brienne lifted a finger up to her lips, signaling him to be quiet. She cornered him, his back pressing against the door. Voices from the crew in their living room muffled through wood behind him, and Jaime frowned harder. Brienne leaned forward, kissing his cheek with a slow, languid touch of her mouth on his skin. Vanilla drifted from her hair and heat seeped into his hands when he placed them on her hips. He closed his eyes. 

“Can I help you relax first?” she asked near his ear. Brienne’s left hand spread and crawled down his abdomen and over his pants, gently grabbing his cock. Jaime opened his eyes.

His throat bobbed and his heart panted as if it ran a marathon. Having had sex twice the night before, they discovered the bed squeaked a bit too loud—plus, the comforter and sheets were already tucked for filming. Over his pants, Brienne caressed his hardening cock. She pulled back her face and leaned her forehead against his with a vicious smirk. She knew this turned him on, she _knew._

She whispered, “I can stop—”

“Don’t.”

Crew members continued to talk outside their door. Brienne let go of his cock, and it strained and ached against his pants—bent and uncomfortable. She gazed at his face, probably curious if he meant “don’t” as in “don’t” touch me or as in “don’t” stop. He had already forgotten what he intended. On top of all the worries nagging at him throughout the morning, the fear of getting caught both turned him on and gave him pause. Even more worrisome, he imagined Brienne permanently staining red if they were found out. In Walano, he offered to fulfill her fantasy, but she refused with wide eyes and ripening cheeks. Here she was, fulfilling his fantasy all through her own volition. Jaime locked eyes with hers, only seeing hints of blue through the dark lighting. People laughed in the living room behind him. He trusted her. He wanted her. Lust, love and libido were stronger than gods. “Don’t stop, but—” Jaime whispered, “we have to be quiet.”

Brienne’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I can keep quiet,” her soft voice promised. He did _not_ trust _that_ statement. Even if he didn’t grab the vibrator and fuck her until she came—which he definitely wanted to do—she still whimpered, screamed and moaned whenever he touched her, vibrator or not. It made the idea of having her more enticing. But she did not leave to grab her vibrator. Instead, she lowered herself to her knees, gazing up at Jaime with her harmless blue gaze while her fingers unbuckled his belt. She asked, “Can you?”

Holding his breath, Jaime watched her unfasten and unzip his pants, peeling layers off until his hard cock sprung free. He reminded himself to breathe, but not blink, as his pants slid down his thighs. She no longer looked at him and focused on his cock, wrapping her hand around his shaft. The instant warmth and pressure from her palm and fingers made his body tense and coil. He watched every inch of her—watched her admire him, watched her stroke him, watched her lick her lips—Jaime’s heart hammered against his chest.

The moment her soft lips dragged across his head, he leaned his body against the door and bit his own lip to stay quiet. His eyes burned into the ceiling, vision turning white when her mouth slipped over his cock. Low voices spoke outside their door and rain tapped their window. Lingering tastes of sweet lime made it from his lips to his tongue. Jaime rested his hands on Brienne’s hair while she tilted her head and took him in as far as she could. She hummed a moan, lapping her tongue and bobbing her head.

“Brienne—” he whispered, urgent and pleading. This entire situation pushed him closer to the edge faster than he expected. One of her hands clawed into his bare hip and her other wrapped around the base of his cock, tugging and gripping him as he hardened further in her mouth. He was losing himself with each stroke, and his trembling hands tried to guide her head up and off of him. “Brienne, I’m going to come—” She refused to leave and looked up with her eyes, killing him with one sultry look. Jaime tensed and leaned back, his lower back and ass hitting the door with a thud loud enough to cease the conversation outside their room. But it was too late. Jaime came, breathing out in hushed and hurried whispers of Brienne’s name while his cock throbbed against her tongue and between her thick lips. His knees forgot how to work, but her hand on his hip helped him steady his stance—their eyes locked into an intense gaze. 

With an obscene pop, his cock slipped out of her mouth and the back of his head leaned onto the door behind him. They both breathed for air quietly. Muffled conversations resumed outside the door. Jaime closed his eyes while his body bathed in euphoria.

Brienne tugged up his pants, and his mind couldn’t think of anything except her. “What about you?” he breathed.

“Make it up to me later,” she said, standing. “If you want to.”

“Oh, I will.” Jaime no longer leaned his head back and stared at her as if she were a celebrity—he was awestruck. 

“Deep breaths,” she said with a smile, licking her lips to drive him _wild._ “You’ll be fine. Grab my hand if you need to. He’ll love you. So will Margaery.”

Jaime ignored her first bit of advice and said in a shallow breath, “Do you even remember what happened when we first met in the pods?”

She smirked, patted her hair down around her ears and reached for the door handle. Everything became a daze while crew members fastened mics and transmitters to their outfits. Jaime nearly fainted when Jimmy said Selwyn and Margaery were outside the door—but it took longer than an elephant trying to shit a giraffe for Jimmy and a camerawoman to exit the apartment and hook up Brienne’s guests with mics.

Jimmy and the camerawoman came back in alone and reminded everyone of their roles. _Phones on silent. Talk about marriage. Get to know each other. Act natural. Don’t look at cameras._ Jaime stuck both of his hands in his back pockets. Brienne giggled and opened the door. Someone screamed, although it _sounded_ happy. 

Larger than Brienne, her father stepped in with a booming voice and large pat on Brienne’s back. He stood taller, and Jaime’s eyes lifted up to greet him with a thin smile. A small gray hat covered his head. He had Brienne’s eyes and nose, along with a hefty set of weathered wrinkles on his face—freshly shaven. 

Brienne turned to greet a woman, but Jaime’s eyes fixated on Selwyn as he walked into the kitchen. His blue eyes surveyed the room and settled on Jaime. _Fuck._ Brienne closed the door and said, “Dad, Margaery, this is Jaime.”

Jaime forced a smile. “Hello—wonderful to meet both of you.”

Selwyn stared, his eyes slowly narrowing while Margaery stood on the other side of Brienne. She asked, “Boyfriend?” 

Glancing over, he saw Margaery and Brienne exchange a quick look. The woman was a head shorter than Brienne, with wavy brown hair. By the time Jaime thought to slap on his charming smile, Brienne stuck out her hand and displayed her engagement ring. “Actually—fiance!”

_You didn’t tell them?!_ Jaime paled over and grabbed his left elbow with his right hand, squeezing it to prevent himself from dry chuckling himself into oblivion. Selwyn inhaled a large breath and let out a sigh. _Oh, shit._

Beaming, Brienne asked, “Anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Jaime cleared his throat and chimed in, “We also have tequila and deep fried tequila. We’re straight out of pruno.” Before leaving for the show, he saw a patient with botulism poisoning from pruno. It came from vegetables and flourished in the deprived oxygen, fermenting environment. Organic vegetables punched hard—botulism could come from juice, potato skins or almost anything. His mouth opened to speak, but his mind worried he would ramble. 

“Pruno?” Margaery asked, tilting her head with a growing smile.

Brienne let out a single chuckle and said, “It's alcohol brewed in prison.”

“Fiance?” Selwyn said.

The mood turned sour and Jaime nodded his head, trying his best to hide his growing frown. It shouldn’t have surprised him Selwyn refused to beat around the bush—just like Brienne. 

“She’s my only child. You work?” Selwyn asked. “You’re stable?”

Brienne sent Jaime a soft smile, but Jaime felt like looking away from Selwyn might bring him an early death. Even so, Jaime managed a laugh and said, “I think she’ll take care of me more than the other way around.”

Selwyn didn’t laugh.

Jaime flattened his expression and said, “Yes, sir. I will.”

“Here, try these,” Brienne said, placing a bowl of deep fried tequila shots on the counter. Selwyn nodded and peered down at the brown bits. 

A small, slender hand slipped in, belonging to Margaery, and she stole a few cubes. “What do you do for a living?”

Jaime explained, trying his best to captivate two of the most important people in Brienne’s life while they nibbled on deep fried drinks. They listened, nodded and smiled the more he explained. Margaery was also a physician and she worked in obstetrics. Selwyn owned his own business, a small grocery store, but it was nowhere near the empire Tywin saved, sustained and grew. While the four of them engaged in small talk about the economy, Brienne licked her lips whenever Jaime glanced over at her. She drove him crazy. _She would hate that phrase._ Jaime sent her a wink, and for once, she didn’t blush—she smiled.

“Should I make some popcorn while we wait for lunch?” Brienne asked.

“Sure!” Margaery straightened her posture.

“You know,” Jaime said, “ _Streptococcus anginosus_ smells like popcorn.”

Margaery’s mouth fell open. “Sounds like a probiotic to me.”

“It’s more amateur-biotic,” Jaime said, stepping out of the way so Brienne could plop a bag into the microwave. Margaery laughed and Selwyn turned to help his daughter. He didn’t laugh much.

“Probiotics are great, I recommend them all the time," Margaery said. "No one exactly smells like popcorn down there, that would shock me. But I did have a patient vagazzle herself for a pap smear. That was funny.”

Jaime scowled. “Vagazzle?”

“Yeah, like bedazzle—glitter, rhinestones—but, you know, it’s on their—”

“Okay!” Brienne said, squeezing between the two of them. “Dad, you know Jaime has a dog?”

“Oh yeah? What kind?” Selywn asked, turning to face him instead of staring at the microwave. Mini-explosions finished popping from inside the machine.

“She’s a mutt. I’m not sure.”

Selwyn actually chuckled. “Sounds like my cats. I have three. You like cats?”

_Cats do nothing more than spread disease._ Their filthy, needle teeth injected far too many infections. Jaime pinched his wrist. He never knew when cats would bite or crap, and he wanted to participate in neither. “I love—”

“Here,” Brienne said, scooting a bowl of popcorn between them. She winked at Jaime.

All four of them quieted while they munched on popcorn. Jimmy mumbled a few things to the crew before he said, “Selwyn, are there any concerns with your daughter marrying in a little over a couple weeks?”

Selwyn swallowed his bite, frowned and looked at Brienne. She gave him a quiet, faint smile. Turning to Jaime, Selwyn cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been married three times. Ever since Brienne’s mother passed away, I’ve tried and failed to replace her. To be honest, I enjoy being single now. Less heartache, less trouble. You should only jump into marriage if you mean it.”

Gulping, Jaime nodded. His jaw clenched.

“You’re in your mid-thirties, still young—and you’re both rushing into this.” Selwyn frowned. “I don’t want to see my daughter hurt. Do you love my daughter?”

“Completely, yes,” Jaime said, tapping into every last drop of seriousness.

Selwyn narrowed his eyes, looking down at him. “Why?”

Jaime tapped his fingers against the counter and averted his gaze away. Margaery cleared her throat quietly. Brienne looked at Jaime with the faintest, furrowed brow he’d ever seen. Jaime wanted Selwyn to accept him, but this man was hard to read. Brienne saved him from lying about goddamn cats and he took the suggestion well enough to know he shouldn’t lie to her father. _If Brienne doesn’t believe me when I say I love her, he won’t believe me either._ His reasoning was stupid—a hunch—a feeling—he knew it was unconventional.

“I’m a firm believer I don’t choose who I love. The moment I realized it was her, I proposed. It’s hard for me to explain, but I love her. Her voice, her words, her everything. It’s really that simple.”

“Simple may mean simple, but it doesn’t mean execution is easy,” Selwyn said, standing straight. “But I know love when I see it. If Brienne wants to marry you…”

Jaime held his breath.

Selwyn smirked. “Then welcome to the family, son.” He paused, looked at the cameras and said, “Now, can we talk about sports?”

Brienne burst into a chuckle and covered her face with her hands. Jaime let out his breath.


	13. Brienne

“There she is,” Jaime said, parking his maroon sedan in the driveway of his home. Brienne peered out the window, trying not to fog up glass with her shallow, almost trembling breath. Alongside the sun, her blue eyes scanned over his two story colonial home, tucked away on a plot of land in the suburbs of King’s Landing. He had a large front yard. It was only a twenty minute drive to work. Grass had long perished in the winter, and nude tree branches shimmied in the light breeze.

Jaime exited the car first and Brienne joined him, breathing in crisp, chilly air. His home was a bit isolated compared to her townhome, and blooming flowers near his picture-perfect blue door stole her attention. _Jaime has flowers? Alive? In the middle of winter?_ She turned to gaze at him with a smirk and he widened his eyes at the bright pink flowers as much as her. He had a house sitter stay at his house for the past three weeks, and they watched his dog, kept up the house and _apparently_ gardened. Jaime came from a privileged life, but almost no one knew they had privilege until they lost it—usually. 

Birds chirped and rustled through leaves and soil while Jaime walked to the blue door. A whine came from inside and through a smile, Brienne bit the inside of her cheek.

A chestnut, large dog booped her nose out the moment Jaime opened the door. “Hi, hi, hi, hi—” Jaime whispered. He bent down to rub her ears. The dog panted and tail wagged like a waving octopus. 

Brienne asked, “What’s her name?”

“Well, it’s…” Jaime said as the dog caught a sniff of Brienne and inched closer, sniffing her lighter jeans. He said, “Ladybug.”

Brienne’s eyes widened.

“Kidding,” Jaime chuckled. “I named her Zosyn. Zoe for short.”

At the mention of her name, Zoe finished analyzing Brienne’s scent, tapped her hurried paws on the floor and beamed up at Jaime. She had a few gray hairs around her lips—maybe a shepherd mix—but if a dog could smile, this would be it. Brienne smiled back. “You named her after the drug?”

“Yeah, well, the name’s great marketing, what can I say?” Jaime stood straight and brushed past Zoe to enter his home. “I can count on one finger, my middle finger, how many times I’ve prescribed Zosyn.”

A warm, woodsy calm greeted Brienne when she stepped inside. No one was home except Zoe. Jaime ranted about antibiotics even as he left the foyer. Sounds of water in a sink filled the quiet home while her own eyes lifted and expanded—taking in all new information. The walls and ceiling were mostly white with crown molding, and her feet stood on dark, hardwood floors. He hung photography of nature—no family and no people. She stepped a few feet in and saw his living room, filled with leather couches, a fireplace and a cute wicker basket full of blankets she guessed he never used. 

“Most antibiotics are actually used in agriculture,” Jaime said, exiting the small bathroom. “Are you nervous?”

Blinking, she turned to look at him. He waited for her answer. _How can I not be nervous?_ She was supposed to meet his family today—and they compromised. Jaime said he didn’t invite Cersei and Tywin refused to be on camera. Brienne only needed to meet Tyrion and Tysha, two people she genuinely wanted to meet and get to know... but the idea of cameras, microphones— 

Grumbling noises croaked alongside a black circle on the floor. Startled, Brienne stepped back as the machine crept closer.

“That’s one of my Roombas,” Jaime said. “Helps with the hair.” 

“One of them?”

“One for each floor.”

Occupied with a breathless smile, Brienne gently chewed her tongue. Jaime stepped forward, reaching out his hand, “Let’s do the tour later. They’ll want to film it anyway when they come in a couple hours or five minutes, who knows. Only one room matters.”

He guided her upstairs and Zoe followed. Brienne walked by minimally decorated walls and entered a masculine bedroom. Jaime had a king sized bed, fit with stereotypical black comforter and dark gray sheets. The window curtains draped to the side, allowing her to see the tops of tree limbs in his backyard. As her eyes scanned the dresser, bookcase, framed photography and rugs, she smiled. His ability to make minimalism feel homey impressed her. 

“Sorry, Zoe, you‘re not old enough to see this—” Jaime consoled his dog and gently closed the door. He turned and said, “This is the part where I offer to lay on my bed and you can use my face as a chair.”

“... What?” Brienne asked, growing redder with every quickening pulse in her heart. This was the _second_ time Jaime tried to encourage her fantasy. He wasn’t pushy, but she didn’t exactly feel comfortable enough to try it. She may have spoiled him when he was nervous, the morning he met her father. Now, Brienne pictured herself crushing Jaime—suffocating him. She couldn’t do it. On the off chance it felt amazing and everything went perfectly, she didn’t bring her vibrator to finish herself off. And gods knew Jaime had no business owning a vibrator at his house. Brienne held back a wince and shook her head. 

Jaime smirked, making her half regret her answer. He said, “I had a feeling you’d politely decline. So I brought this—” He reached inside his jean pocket and pulled out her ladybug vibrator. “And a few extra batteries.”

Brienne loved him. She focused on him—the bedroom fell away. And she smiled wider. Sunlight tiptoed into the room as they stripped their clothes. As excited as their first time, she bit her lip at the sight of him fully naked and fully hard. Goosebumps hummed over her arms, her hair craving his touch. His bed welcomed her like a cloud, and Jaime descended his hand between her legs with the buzzing vibrator.

When she closed her eyes, her mind distracted itself. So many questions nagged inside her head. She wondered if he truly loved her, or if he changed his mind. With every passing day she gave him more and more of her heart. This experiment felt less and less like an experiment—and it made her lips tremble. 

“Take as much time as you need,” he said, words sweet against her skin.

Brienne opened her eyes to gaze at him. She found it near impossible to describe how supportive and loving he was. _Is this a dream?_

Handsome and eager, he stared back and said, “Are you worried they’ll show up? They haven’t texted us yet.”

He was right, there was no rush. No expected visitors for hours and no rush to get ready for work. She swallowed and wet her lips. “No, I’m just—it’s hard to relax.”

Jaime nodded once, left the vibrator on her thigh and twisted across the bed to a nightstand. He came back to her side with a bottle of edible massage oil. Brienne smiled. Both of them had worked a fair amount the past week—lots of driving, standing and long hours. Massages sounded perfect. 

Morning on his skin, he poured oil into his hands. Brienne’s soft eyes closed while she returned the vibrator to her clit—focusing on sprouting tingles—until she felt Jaime’s warm hands spreading over her thighs. Brienne’s mouth fell open and her back arched over the bed. Laying down, through trial and error, they discovered she preferred slow, kneading motions across her thighs and hips. She loved and shivered every time he softly teased his fingertips over her breasts or her cunt. Sugary vanilla surrounded her. Brienne curled her toes—tension building and building under the vibrator.

Jaime’s hot hands left for a moment to tip more oil onto his palm. Through a slick grip, the bottle slipped through his hands and crashed onto Brienne’s abdomen, glugging chilled massage oil all over her. She gasped and Jaime’s eyes widened more than a whale’s mouth. “Shit,” he said.

Brienne peered down while oil pooled and spread. Her hand dropped the vibrator and reached to help while Jaime sat up and steadied the bottle. Slick oil stuck to her palms and fingers, dripping and sliding around her skin. He avoided eye contact—a sure sign of embarrassment. She knew him well enough. “It’s fine,” Brienne said, offering a smile, “Just cover the stain. It’ll smell great in here.”

Jaime lowered his head with a weak laugh.

“Here,” Brienne said, slathering oil from her hand onto his obliques. His muscles tensed under her fingers, and when she looked up at him with her lip between her teeth, he smirked. While the vibrator buzzed on the sheets, the two of them wrestled into a giggling, heated tangle. Arms grappled, pinning each other back and forth in a world without friction. The sensation of his smooth, warm skin gliding against hers blinded her. Muscles on fire and lungs breathless, Brienne closed her eyes the moment Jaime found the vibrator and pressed it against her cunt. But it slipped through his fingers. Through laughs, she settled on her back and tried holding the vibrator herself—but it, too, slid out of her grip.

They both held back their laughs. Jaime proceeded to suggest solution after solution to help: wash their hands, take a shower, grab a towel or prop the vibrator up on a pillow. Brienne wasn’t sure how the last suggestion would work, but it gave her an idea.

“Can you lay on your back?” Brienne asked, tempted to chew her own cheek. Instead, she waited for him to smile and fall back—his oiled muscles flexing and shining in sunlight. _How the fuck did I get this lucky?_ Her eyes trailed south, admiring how his full cock rested by his navel. She had never ridden him before for fear of crushing him. The lingering thought made her pause. He wasn’t weak by any means, and his strong core, arms and thighs proved all of this—but she was massive. Her eyes snapped up to his face. Rather than holding his breath or looking for a way out of his own bedroom, he nodded. Brienne swallowed.

Giggles and laughter melted away when she climbed on top of him. Brienne leaned forward and held herself up. Her heartbeat filled her ears, beating louder the moment his cock dragged against her thigh and slipped inside of her. Slowly, she sank onto him, folding her legs around his chest while she stretched to take him. His hands reached for her pale thighs—fingertips sinking and leaving pink imprints. She hovered over his chest and face, and his throat bobbed and shallow breath escaped between his lips. _Am I too much?_ Jaime closed his eyes and thrust up with a chilling moan. He liked this.

Brienne took her time leaning back, stopping when she sat upright. His tan and oiled body distracted her—the perfect view. Jaime’s own eyes roamed around her chest, core, but lingered longer on her face. She almost forgot… She grabbed the vibrator and placed it between them, buzzing while it tucked between their bodies. Their spare hands reached for each other, hips grinding in slow, steady movements. The mere control of pinning his body under hers gave her a rush. His beautiful eyes turned sinful and they looked right at hers. Subtle movements over his cock sent her mind singing, and the slow struggle to build began again—inching higher and higher until she was afraid she might faint. Pleasure kept her focused, and she flattened her hand against his warm chest. Her cunt sank lower, and he growled—biceps tightening as if he held himself back. Maybe he did. 

Jaime’s abs flexed, his cock deepening in her with faint thrusts—stronger than her instinct to clench her thighs around him as she climbed closer. Her vibrator slipped farther along her clit, hitting her in just the right spot. A brand new spot. Within seconds, she came. Her fingers gripped his chest, her eyes shuddered closed and her shoulders curved forward while her cunt gave way in blissful contractions. He moaned with her and he continued gentle, steady thrusts. Brienne let out a long breath, mind still tingling—and out of nowhere, tension returned full force—throwing her back to the start of another amazing orgasm. It struck her hard and left her weak, most of all, speechless and silent. She never even dreamed of having multiple orgasms, but reality proved her wrong. It was one of the most amazing sensations she ever experienced.

In awe and with a cocky grin, Jaime caught her as she slumped onto his chest. Her cunt ached pleasantly. Her parted lips smiled, both at his reaction and her own. He twirled her over and onto her back, her vibrator still buzzing between sheets somewhere—and neither of them cared. He continued to make love to her for as long as he could last. Soft, slow and tender. His supple lips dragged on her neck and chest slipped across hers. She heard him whisper her name as if she heard it for the very first time.

He warned her he was going to come, as he always did. His words made her wetter and she held him closer. This entire time, she felt like she was flying.

Jaime buried his head close to her neck as he let go, moaning against her ear—

“Wee!” Brienne’s phone buzzed and blared throughout the room. Her Angry Ravens sound clip.

Jaime stopped mid-moan and froze. 

_GODS._ Brienne saturated so red she might as well be a bucket of firehouse paint. In a heap of shallow breaths, Jaime lifted himself up to look at her with heavy, furrowed eyebrows. “Was that a—”

“Text message,” she whispered, quiet as a mouse.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

_Wee?_ His head over hers, they stared at each other with widening eyes and quick breaths—until Jaime let out the first wave of laughter. He cracked up, finding her ridiculous phone notification more funny than anything else. She mirrored him, giggling under him while he mumbled about it having great timing. She took a mental note: _silence your phone._

Showers and smiles washed away the embarrassment, and the two of them cleaned up and played fetch with Zoe on the lawn while the crew made their way over. The sun warmed Brienne well enough, and she bundled herself in her “long” puffer coat. When the crew arrived, Selena waved as she stepped out of the car and helped mic the two of them up. 

The “tour” of the house began. When two cameramen started to record, Selena asked Jaime and Brienne what their biggest issue or worry was as a couple.

Jaime scoffed. “Well, Brienne’s a psychopath because she refuses to eat the heel end of a loaf of bread.”

Brienne groaned.

If Jaime meant to calm her down before Tyrion and Tysha arrived, he achieved his goal. She continued to have an amazing morning with him, even if cameras filmed her reactions to each of his rooms. They couldn’t stop holding hands—and it wasn’t for show.

“Smells great in here,” Selena said in Jaime’s bedroom. Brienne shared a look with him, trying her best to breathe through an oncoming blush. But Serena’s phone rang and saved Brienne from further probing. Jaime guided Brienne over to discuss his favorite monochrome photograph from Essos.

“Hey,” Selena said, tucking her phone back in her back pocket. “They said Tyrion and Tysha are downstairs and ready to film. You two ready to start lunch outside?”

Brienne sucked in her cheeks, nodded and followed the crew down to the front of the house. Selena gave the okay to open the door, and Jaime obliged. Zoe wiggled her way out, revealing two people: a short woman and even shorter man. The woman had dark hair, pretty blue eyes and a soft smile. Brienne shared a quick grin with her and turned to look at the man—a little person. Beyond his surprising dwarfism, he had a mismatching set of eyes and peppered hair. Brienne smiled and said, “Hello, I’m Brienne.”

Jaime stepped forward, cleared his throat and said, “Brienne, this is my brother, Tyrion, and Tysha, his wife of ten years.”

She wanted to frown. _Why didn't Jaime mention this?_ Maybe he didn’t trust her. She thought he already did. Hiding her blinks, Brienne reached forward and shook both of their hands with smiles. Their hands were warmer than hers, only another reminder she grew more uneasy by the second. 

Selena pulled Jaime for a quick interview while Brienne, Tysha and Tyrion moseyed over to a set of patio furniture on the backyard lawn. Tyrion wore a light gray cashmere sweater—simple yet sophisticated. It fit him well, and it matched Tysha’s loose pink wool dress nicely. Brienne sat facing away from the sun. Its rays on her back helped her forget it was winter, but a light, chilled breeze flowed between them as Tyrion and Tysha sat across from her. Two cameras filmed them, one behind a thinning bush and another on the side of the house. Zoe explored throughout the yard, pressing her nose into piles of leaves with her wagging tail. Fresh air might have fooled Brienne to think they were outside of King’s Landing, but distant hums of traffic lingered.

“It’s great to see Jaime has a special new someone in his life,” Tyrion said. His voice was just as deep, and he smiled well.

“Yes,” Brienne said, wondering if her posture was too stiff. She leaned forward slightly and rested some of her weight on the left armrest of the patio chair. With every new breath, she forced herself to look more at ease than she felt, just like at work. In a way, not impressing Jaime’s father felt less scary than seeking Tyrion’s approval. “We’ve both been single for sometime, so it’s nice to have a partner again.”

“Partners,” Tyrion said, narrowing his eyes. Wind stilled. He continued to stare at her, and after a few seconds, he looked down and up again. “That ring on your finger suggests more.”

Her mouth ran dry, no longer able to pull up the memory of Jaime—a comforting taste. She was alone, surrounded by Lannisters and cameras. Producers had told her not to tell Selwyn or Margaery off camera, for obvious drama reasons. Jaime had likely been told the same thing. But Tyrion noticed details. Clearing her throat, Brienne managed a small smile. “Well, we both went on this show as an experiment. And,” she rubbed her lips together, “I think it’s working.” 

Tyrion let out a laugh. “He said he was going on a weird vacation for ten days or less. If you know anything about Jaime, he’s unpredictable. So when he failed to come back after ten days, I thought nothing of it. I’ve been trying to set him up for years—it never worked. If you’ve impressed Jaime, you’ve impressed me. What do you do for a living?”

Brienne, Tysha and Tyrion started their small talk, and to Brienne’s surprise, the conversation remained fulfilling. Tyrion and Tysha did not gasp or freak out when she mentioned her career, and they both laughed when Brienne mentioned Jaime’s rambles about STDs in the pods. Tyrion said he worked for their father, although they barely saw each other. Tysha worked from home as a programmer. She was a soft spoken woman, but her eye contact and smiles were strong and genuine. Brienne caught her glancing at the cameras a couple times, and Brienne knew how she felt.

Tyrion winced and cocked his head to the side. “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

Jetting out her chin, Brienne shook her head and said, “Not at all. Ask away.”

“Why do you love him?”

Brienne blinked, unable to hold them back. She inhaled a deep breath and the small microphone dug into her collar. _This isn’t much different than the pods. Cameras. Mics. People listening._ But Jaime wasn’t there. Her eyes searched for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. “He’s honorable… and brave. Nothing scares him. I know it sounds unbelievable, but we both trust each other. He’s referred to you both several times, and you’re both his idols in a way. Marrying so quickly is… scary. But we’ve already learned so much about each other and experienced—” Brienne paused, “challenges already. Every challenge seems to make us stronger, not weaker.”

Nodding, Tyrion offered a weak smile. Then, he frowned. “My father came to see you, didn’t he?”

“Mhm,” Tysha said, her voice silky. “Happened to me, too.” She smirked at Brienne. “I’m still here.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say. She wanted to rant and ramble—but the cameras…

Jaime walked down the slope from his backdoor with a large pizza box and a six pack of beer. Tyrion’s eyes lit up and he stood, offering to accept the beer over the pizza. While Tyrion popped off the bottle caps with his wedding ring, Tysha opened the pizza to reveal curled, thick pepperoni slices with pools of fat and browned mushrooms over gooey cheese.

“Why does the mushroom get invited to all the parties?” Jaime asked, plopping himself down into the chair next to Brienne.

Tyrion handed out the beer to everyone, a moonlight vanilla porter named Noche Dulce. “Drink. He’s funnier when you drink.”

Jaime ignored his brother and said, “Because he’s a fun-guy!”

Tysha giggled, reaching for a pizza slice over her beer. Brienne smirked and scooted her chair closer to Jaime. She would laugh more if she wasn't so damn nervous.

As they ate, Tyrion asked, “How long till the wedding?”

Jaime answered first. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!” Tyrion choked on his bite. “That’s not nearly long enough for me to sabotage it.”

Frowning, Jaime pulled his pizza away from another bite and warned, “Tyrion.”

“No, she should know!” Tyrion’s entire face enlarged and he inched to the edge of his chair. He looked at Brienne and said, “Jaime tried to sabotage our wedding.”

_What?_ Brienne looked to Jaime, whose scowl deepened so much she could see every handsome line on his face. 

“No, no, no,” Jaime said, leaning over the table. “It was Father’s idea and it wasn’t even a real woman.”

Tysha raised her eyebrows once and side eyed Tyrion, who smiled. Brienne sat in shock, but she hid it well by neutralizing her face into a plain expression. She lost her appetite, if she ever had one. Inside jokes were hardly funny without context.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jaime whispered to Brienne. 

“No,” Tyrion said, smiling. “It was a sex doll.”

Jaime closed his eyes and said, “It was also ten years ago.”

Tyrion set his pizza down on his plate, and held the beer between his hands. “Tell me, Brienne, you’re a professional, does a sex doll count as cheating?”

Jaime gave Tyrion a stern look. Brienne swallowed as a blush crept up her neck. “I—I’m not a counselor at all. I deal with people with serious mental illness.”

“Even better.” Tyrion sipped his beer. “We need one of those.”

Tysha finished swallowing her last bite of pizza and giggled. It seemed Tyrion favored making people uncomfortable. Jaime shook his head. Tyrion let out a pleasant sigh and reached for his slice. “Our family isn’t the most functional family, but the three of us get along well. A few aunts, uncles and cousins are fun. You can’t possibly meet all of them within two weeks, but…” Tyrion paused and whispered, “that might be for the better.”

Jaime pointed at his own mic and warned Tyrion with a look, but Tyrion grinned wider—until his eyes squinted to stare at something behind Jaime and Brienne. He said, “Speak of the Stranger.”

Brienne and Jaime turned to look. A beautiful woman approached them, her wavy blonde hair half down and half braided. She wore a crimson coat with fur collar and white jeans. Her cream boots also had fur wrapped around her calves. The woman smiled and Jaime whispered, “Fuck.”

“Cersei,” Tyrion said, “how wonderful for you to stop by with such lucky timing.”

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Jaime didn’t invite her, and he didn’t want Brienne to meet Cersei at all until after the wedding. Brienne stood when Jaime did, and Cersei walked right up to her brother, continuing her warm, beautiful smile. “I came by to see you,” her voice just as beautiful as her face, “but I asked those people near the cars what was going on and they said I should join.”

Selena stepped in and asked Cersei and Brienne to speak alone. Brienne agreed with pressed lips and Cersei only smiled. Jaime’s hands would not still. They clenched, they tapped and they scratched his neck.

Together, Cersei and Brienne sat on a bench near the side of Jaime’s yard. Brienne wanted to give Cersei a chance, despite Jaime’s warnings. Cersei’s lips smiled, and her eyes studied Brienne’s face. Brienne did the same, noticing how similar Jaime resembled her. Golden hair, green eyes and beautiful features.

Diamonds glittered on Cersei’s ears. “So, you’re going to be my sister. I’ve always wanted another sister.” She crossed her legs and sat with perfect posture—somehow coming off as natural and at ease. “I think it’s great Jaime finally met someone. Are you going to move in with Jaime after the wedding?”

_She already knows._ Brienne mildly blushed and looked away. “We haven’t talked about it, but I assume so.”

“Honeymoon?” Cersei asked with a smile.

Jaime hadn’t talked about a honeymoon either. Brienne held back a wince and said, “Well, we both work a lot, so a honeymoon is hard. We spent our vacation time meeting each other.”

“Of course,” Cersei’s smooth voice calmed Brienne. “You can still plan a wonderful weekend getaway in King’s Landing. He loves doing that. But you shouldn’t have to plan it. He’s not the best planner in the world, but his actions say everything.”

Brienne agreed and nodded her head.

“Which is why,” Cersei said, “it’s surprising almost no one is here to meet you. He didn’t invite others?” Even her slight frowns were beautiful.

“I think the whole family here would be overwhelming.”

“I agree. It’s best not to meet the entire family. It’s not easy being a Lannister. How do you like the name?”

Brienne swallowed and said, “I plan on keeping my name.”

“You do?” Cersei tilted her head to the side and looked down at Brienne’s outfit. She never stopped smiling. “Maybe that’s for the better. People can be bipolar with our family, either loving us or hating us or switching between the two.”

That wasn’t what bipolar meant at all. Her common misconception irked Brienne almost as much as people equating schizophrenia with criminals. Bipolar didn’t mean changing opinions—but Brienne bit into her tongue. Her lips quivered once.

Cersei smiled. “As his twin, I only want what’s best for him. If you get married, you can always change your mind.”

_If?_ Brienne chewed her tongue harder. A ferocious part of her wanted to lash at this woman for her seemingly subtle hints. She listened, however, as Cersei had been the very first person to introduce the concept of time _after_ the show. She had a point—the last time Brienne and Jaime spoke about the future was inside the pods… before he saw her. Cameras loomed around them and Brienne tried to ignore the pressure to speak. She had far too many questions honking in her head. _What if he says no?_ She had no plan. No backup. No idea how she would handle such a massive rejection in front of an audience, family, and friends.

She wanted to find love, and she found it, but the risk of Jaime saying no crept back into her mind. Love was important, but unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. Happiness ruled all else. For that, Brienne didn’t want to be lonely—the entire reason why she took a chance on the show. If Jaime said no… she’d be lonely.

Brienne asked to go to the bathroom and a crew member took off her mic and transmitter. Inside, she didn’t pee. She pulled out her phone and called Margaery.

She picked up right away. “Hey! How is it going?”

“Fine,” Brienne said, unable to look at herself in the mirror as if she could feel her nose grow longer. The painful realization this wasn’t _her_ home hit hard. “Can you help me out with something?”

“Sure thing! You’re doing great, by the way, you two look so natural. Producers asked me to come to the bridal dress try on tomorrow. Oh! And you need to pick a bridesmaid dress. To be honest, I think we should meet up without cameras, I have _so_ much to really ask you. Sorry, I’m rambling—what’s up?”

“Please be there, I’d love to have you there if you can make it. I—” Brienne’s chest shuddered. She needed to protect herself through strategy. “I need help planning a getaway for after the wedding, in King’s Landing. Can you help plan it? Set it up?”

“Of course!” Margaery sounded excited. “Honeymoon is just what you two deserve. Some time alone.”

“Actually,” Brienne croaked, “I—I was thinking this getaway could be for you and me in case… he says no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14 is already written (needs edits and beta read) and Chapter 15 is 75% through its first draft. SO I expect to post Chapter 14 this week and the two remaining chapters next weekend! Who's excited for the wedding?!


	14. Jaime

Sitting in his sedan, the two Lannister brothers waited for Jaime to finish a phone consult. Jaime listened to the emergency resident say, “Middle aged male, fever of 104, no elevated white blood cell count, worst headache of his life, elevated liver enzymes. All other values normal. Recently came from a bicycling trip from Essos. Black eschar with surrounding erythema on his lower leg.”

Jaime tapped his foot. The diagnosis burbled up like a bubble in a tar pit. This was rather rare. This could have been a teaching moment, but a horde of testosterone waited for him outside his car. Jaime had no time to teach. He said, “If his skin isn’t spotty yet, I bet it will be soon. My money’s on boutonneuse. Run serology and start doxycycline. Starting tomorrow, you’ll have to contact Dr. Marbrand for ID consult. I have—” he didn’t want to say it, “I won’t have my phone tomorrow. You have yourself a fun case. I wish I could be there to see it. Tootles.” Jaime hung up.

Tyrion smirked. “You think you’re one of the gods.”

Shaking his head, Jaime said, “I can be frequently in error, never in doubt.” _I doubt Brienne will say no, but I’ve been wrong before._ “Besides, good physicians are not those who are initially right. They are the ones who don’t stick by their ideas when they’re wrong.”

Tyrion shared the same amused face when Jaime said something intelligent. He popped his door open. “I can’t wait to ask how all these men managed to live with you for almost two weeks.”

Jaime peered out his car. Oberyn, Theon, Sam, Drogo and Grey waited by the front door of a store, which glittered with small lights. Excitement from the unique consult had already worn off and the exhaustion of working twelve days in a row crept into its place. It felt like years since he last spent a daylight hour with Brienne, and yet here he was, spending time with his brother and show-mates over his fiancée. Jaime stifled a yawn—not a good sign after lunch—and exited his car.

But it was a relief to see no cameras and to see only his show pals. Today was the day before their weddings and today was the day of their bachelor party. Oberyn found everyone’s cell numbers and invited them to a shopping spree. Jaime dragged Tyrion along with him. Oberyn and Theon smirked, but Sam and Grey side eyed the parking lot.

“About time to join us, Lannister,” Oberyn said, lifting his chin. Everyone wore jackets and jeans, except Oberyn, who preferred a short sleeve t-shirt. Jaime and Tyrion approached the group and Jaime introduced his brother. No one laughed, no one teased, and it made Jaime wonder if his teenage memories of mocking and cruelty were false. _No—all of it was real._

“Ready to go in?” Oberyn asked.

“Yes,” Drogo said with enthusiasm.

One by one, all seven men shuffled into a sex shop called Forever 69. A mannequin on a tower greeted them first, dressed in barely existent, red lingerie and the tallest heels known to humans. Jaime’s eyes lifted and lifted until the mannequin had no head on her shoulders, and he promptly looked away. The door dinged every time someone stepped in, and a cashier with a deep v-cut shirt walked over with a bright smile. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said, lingering his brown eyes on Jaime.

Oberyn stepped forward and shook the guy’s hand. “I’ve brought all my friends because we’re all, well—almost all—getting married tomorrow. We’re here to buy gifts for brides.”

Jaime’s eyes gandered around. Bright products filled the walls from floor to ceiling. The entrance of the store seemed tame enough. Small packages of lube, lotions, condoms and “enhancing” supplements on one side, while lacy lingerie and costumes hung on the opposite side. 

Theon glanced through a set of lingerie, pulling out a set of hot pink panties and lace bra. “I’ll get this.”

Not far behind, Sam peered over Theon’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “You think she’s sized extra small?”

On the other side of Jaime, Drogo examined a packet of “Mr. Big Male Enhancement Penis Enlargement Pills”. The best part of the packaging was the smoke curling above the outline of a penis. Jaime held back his laugh. _Homeopathy works better than this bottle of shit._

“Statistically speaking,” Grey said, stiff while looking at the almost naked mannequin, “red lingerie is the best seller here.” 

_Perhaps he has a point._ Jaime cocked his head to the side and gazed at the mannequin again. _Would Brienne even like lingerie?_

Beside him, Tyrion picked up a pink package with big letters. “18 Again. Vaginal shrink cream. Wow. This is one way to force a man to sleep on the couch for weeks.”

Jaime scowled and approached his brother, narrowing his eyes on the product with a smile. “Any reviews?” he joked and Tyrion laughed with him. This product had to be a joke.

“Come on, guys,” Oberyn said, “let’s go to the back where the real stuff is.” He beckoned everyone over with his hand and Grey followed first. Jaime stepped forward with the rest of them, but curiosity nagged at him to ask the cashier a question.

“Excuse me,” Jaime said, voice deep and rather quiet. “What’s your return policy?”

The man swallowed, blinked and gave a weak smile. “We accept returns within a month, but items must be in good condition.”

Jaime’s heart screamed like a goat. He grimaced, but the man smiled wider. Thoughts of bacteria filled Jaime’s mind and he forced himself to ask, “Are any of the items on the floor, you know, used?”

“Oh, no. But you can definitely test them.”

Standing straighter, Jaime’s throat tightened.

“Test it with your hands, I mean. I recommend testing vibrators on the tip of your nose.”

_Not a chance in cold hell._ Jaime smiled and nodded while the young man blushed. Having no interest in learning more of the store’s practices, Jaime walked farther into the store, past body paints, pecker ice sculpture kits and blow job undies. He found the group of men huddled close together, as if the wall of dildos might bite them. _Some of them might._ On the opposite wall, like a grocery store, bright colored vibrators of all shapes and sizes filled the shelves. Jaime squinted his eyes and gazed at the wall closest to him—having never seen so many penises. Sure, he had been in a sex store before, but why go _this_ far back in the bowels of someone’s small business? Jaime’s eyes stopped moving when he caught sight of a glow in the dark dildo. _The “prowler”._

“I want every single one of you to buy a vibrator,” Oberyn said, standing in front of the group. He leaned against a display table and pressed play on a purple dildo attached to a platform—it started thrusting and fucking the air. Sam flushed.

Drogo pointed towards a large, tan dildo, fully equipped with testicles, charging cable and suction cup. 

_Gods._

Oberyn reached out towards Drogo and winced. “Women don’t want a vibrator that looks like a penis. Or at least, that’s what I’ve noticed.” The purple, thrusting dildo next to Oberyn stopped thrusting. _What a show._

Theon scoffed and said, “Sansa doesn’t need one.”

“Doesn’t matter. How do you know she doesn’t want one? Has she told you?” Oberyn asked.

Keeping quiet, Theon blinked and looked around. 

With a step forward, Sam cleared his throat and asked quietly, “Do you know which one is… good?”

“Pay attention,” Oberyn said, slapping his hands together. He rubbed them for a bit and started on the far right, pointing at a different vibrator with his own personal testimony. “Good, barely holds a charge, hard to clean, never buy this one, good, good, good, really good if you can afford it, good—”

Tyrion stood on his tip toes and lifted up a dildo for Jaime to see. He held a _three_ headed dildo. Jaime didn’t know _quite_ how that one worked. Tyrion raised his eyebrows as if he were impressed and whispered, “Buy two get one 50% off. Six cocks for the price of—I have to do the math, hold on...” 

“What’s back there?” Theon asked, and Jaime stopped his snickering to listen for Oberyn’s answer.

“BDSM stuff,” Oberyn said casually. “Whips, crops, paddles, anal, strap ons, handcuffs, ropes, shock pads—” He stopped to look at everyone staring at him with blank faces. 

“Where are the dolls?” Tyrion asked, walking forward.

“I’ll show you but just because you’re married doesn’t mean you get away without buying your beau anything,” Oberyn said.

Jaime scrambled to follow them both, scurrying past the Clone-A-Willy area and silicone feet titled “Little Piggies”.

“Look, a midget man blow up doll. Now, this is the most popular,” Tyrion said, pulling a box off the shelf of dolls. All dolls neatly packed into small boxes and objectifying pictures littered the outside of each box. Oberyn left to help Theon and Jaime stood behind his brother, glaring at the boxes of sex dolls. Jaime smirked. Brienne had asked about the story on the way to their apartment, away from his home, and he told her everything. A week before Tyrion’s wedding, his father demanded Jaime hire a prostitute and plant her in Tyrion and Tysha’s hotel room. If Jaime refused, his father threatened to pull back financial support for the wedding—and Jaime couldn’t stand to see his brother embarrassed. So Jaime solved his problem by buying a blow up doll dressed as a prostitute. Needless to say, his father wasn’t very happy, but his pockets remained open.

Jaime said, “Thank you for mortifying Brienne, but she didn’t find the story very funny.”

“Because she expects Father to do the same thing to her.” Tyrion set the midget doll box down and looked back at Jaime, staring for a few seconds. “You’re quiet. That means you’re thinking. How _do_ you really feel about Brienne?”

“I’m thinking what I may do to him if he tries anything,” Jaime said, honest as Brienne. He knew well enough to know Tyrion couldn’t be manipulated as easily as Jaime’s 26 year-old-self, but the fear still remained. He wondered what both his father and his sister would do to try and scare Brienne away—and if it would work. 

Tyrion’s lips disappeared into a thin line. His brows lowered before he asked, “Is this real? I know you wanted to go on this show to piss off Cersei and Father. Gods know you’ve achieved that. Selena called me to tell me this wedding is as real as any other—”

“Then you know I’m not supposed to talk about my choice, or hers.” Producers made it very clear to keep family in as much darkness as possible. It kept their answers genuine and reactions authentic. Jaime closed his eyes. Just this morning, he spent several hours filming long interviews about his emotions, fears and every single one of them felt like a wound ready to burst. The thought of upsetting family, both his and hers, or upsetting producers, or upsetting an audience—Jaime hated rejection. Everything built up to the wedding, and his heart shivered at the realization it was less than 24 hours away. 

“I’m your brother. You can tell me what’s going to happen. I want to support you.”

Jaime blinked his eyes open. He could tell Tyrion—tell him exactly whether he planned on saying “I do” at the altar or “I do not”. But Tyrion might tell Tysha, and she might tell her friends, and so on.

“You think she’ll say no? You’ve talked about it, right?” Tyrion asked.

Jaime recalled their last two weeks: a rhythm of cooking, eating, working and sleeping. They no longer had sex every day—one or both of them came home too tired from dealing with sick patients all day. Reality sank in ever since Jaime introduced his family, and something in Brienne changed. She quieted and poured herself into work. It could have been Cersei, but Brienne insisted Cersei didn’t say anything venomous. _Why would she when she wants her 15 minutes of fame?_ Given the show appreciated drama, Cersei might have gotten her wish.

Neither Brienne or Jaime talked about the wedding. It was a taboo topic. Confronted by his own brother, Jaime winced at the thought Brienne may reject him. In a way, he didn’t want to know the truth. With a shallow inhale, Jaime said, “I think Brienne will say yes.”

“Then why are you so scared?” Tyrion whispered.

“Because I’ve been wrong before.”

“I believe in you. Both of you. I can only hope both of your choices are your own. I’m here for you either way, although, I do have to say—I like her.”

Jaime gave a weak smile. 

From across the room, Oberyn clapped his hands. “Smell the silicone before you buy it. It should smell nice.” His higher than normal voice sounded as if he was a teacher cluing his students into a future question on an exam.

“Let’s buy some sex toys,” Tyrion said, nodding his head. 

Jaime agreed and went to work, examining vibrators with a keen eye. He considered his options. She preferred having his cock inside her while she finished, and her vibrator had three settings. He turned into a prime investigator. He came across a black vibrator claiming to feel like oral suction and it peaked his interest. Having experienced her wiggles and protests whenever his lips touched her clit, this vibrator may have been a wild card—but Jaime was a daring man.

Against Oberyn’s advice, Drogo picked up a vibrating dildo resembling a penis. At least he avoided the neon-yellow “dragon” dildo he held onto for five minutes. Sam selected a simple bullet vibrator, likely one of the cheapest ones there. Jaime considered telling him it was a great choice, but the thought of Brienne melting into her own pool of embarrassment held him back. Jaime only smiled.

Theon checked out first, only with his lingerie of choice. Grey bought a handful of C batteries for mysterious purposes. Drogo slapped his dildo down on the counter and Jaime peered over to see if the thick member broke the counter. It didn’t. Tyrion picked out a vibrator that looked like an egg.

Jaime came up next and set his choice down, Oberyn standing beside him. 

“Any condoms?” Oberyn asked.

“I have a stash at home,” Jaime said, not wanting to reveal he didn’t use them with her. _If Brienne says no, I just may need to use them._ “But never a bad idea. Bacteria is the gift that keeps giving.”

“Viruses, too.” The cashier said.

Jaime gave a small smile. 

“To think there was a time we didn’t have to worry about it,” Oberyn said.

“STDs?” Jaime said, “Humans have always had the pleasure of microbes ruining our pleasure. HIV, however, is a newer beast we could have tamed decades ago.” Oberyn and the cashier listened. “Science was ignored because of wackaloons in politics and religion. Millions died who didn’t need to. Simple things could have helped in the beginning: condoms, exchanging needles and closing bathhouses.”

“Jaime,” Tyrion said.

Jaime stopped and blinked. While these people paid him attention, no one listened and engaged with him better than Brienne. He missed her and he didn't want to spend a full day off without her. He stepped aside to let Oberyn buy a bag full of vibrators.

Once everyone walked to their cars in the parking lot, Oberyn whipped out three large magic wand vibrators. Like a sex Santa, he plopped a vibrator in Theon’s bag, Grey’s bag and Sam’s bag. 

The lot of men drove to their AirBnB for the night, purchased by the show. It would be his first night without Brienne in weeks—since the Summer Isles. Luggage and tuxes were already dropped off. Per usual bachelor parties, male friends and family were invited, and everyone tried to tuck their black bag full of sex items deep under their beds. Tyrion, Oberyn, Theon and Jaime small talked over beers while Jimmy and crew came by to prep for the night’s filming. Somehow the topic of strippers came up and Jimmy explained the show would not take them to a strip club. Oberyn raised his beer and shouted, “After! It’s going to be a long night, boys. Buckle up.”

He was right. Jaime and all of the other grooms drank and filmed most of their bachelor night in a casino bar entirely hosted for the show. Conversations either revolved around horrible decisions or horrible betting—Jaime preferred to avoid both. Theon asked if Jaime had been hit on a lot, and Jaime turned to Tyrion and said, “I’ve been hit on before. Remember the casino a few years ago?”

Tyrion and Theon smirked.

“A lady came up to me sitting at a bar and asked if I wanted a “date”. I declined and she said business had been super slow. No one is less likely to participate in the world’s oldest pastime than an ID doc at an ID conference.”

Jaime had millions of one liners to entertain whomever needed it. Somehow, he and the other men survived, and as soon as mics and cameras left, everyone shuffled across the street to a gentlemen’s club. Jaime ducked straight for the bar, ordered a stout and slithered out to the patio before he saw a single nipple. Strip clubs weren’t his thing.

Outside, he met windy, cold air—but it was quiet. He appreciated silence, and hoped Brienne managed to find a few quiet moments wherever she was, too. Jaime pulled out his phone. No text messages and no calls. Ten percent battery left. If today was any measure for the stress he was about to endure tomorrow, he wondered how Brienne handled her own battles. He debated calling her—just to check in—but she was likely busy with the other women or sleeping. A simple text would solve his worries, but he didn’t want to appear clingy. If she needed support, she would ask for it. _Right?_

The door opened and Tyrion walked out with a sly smirk, but it dropped the moment he saw Jaime. Turning away, Jaime gazed at the light above them: a bright, fluorescent light in the middle of darkness. Bugs and moths fluttered up and down against it. Next to the parking lot, the patio’s small wall made it easy for anyone to slip in and out of the strip club unnoticed. Tyrion pushed a chair closer to Jaime, but neither of them sat. They stood in silence, even when a black sedan rolled up and stopped outside the patio walls.

Jaime should have known.

His father stepped out of the backseat, dressed in a black golfing polo and slacks. Jaime clenched his jaw and his hand, squeezing the once cold beer glass until it almost broke. Tyrion stepped towards Jaime, never taking their eyes off of their father.

“Jaime. Tyrion,” he said, voice deep and authoritative.

Neither Jaime and Tyrion said anything. Jaime knew his father’s goal: stop the wedding. He could ask nicely—Jaime still wouldn’t listen. Nothing his father could say would ruin or crush Jaime’s spirit. Nothing.

“What are you going to say tomorrow?” Father asked.

Jaime swallowed his annoyance and said plainly, “I’m not telling you.”

“He won’t even tell me.” Tyrion shrugged. Empathizing with their father rarely worked.

“You don’t have to,” their father said. “Because I’m telling you what to say.”

Jaime chuckled and shook his head.

“You haven’t given this one thought beyond those damn cameras.”

“Let me guess,” Jaime said, “you want me to leave the show?” 

“It’s too late. Your absence will be more of an embarrassment to you and my company than you rejecting her first. You’ll stand up on that altar, say no, and Cersei will comfort you.”

“How thoughtful of both of you,” wanting to laugh at his father’s analysis. “Comforting the man who dumps a bride on the altar.”

Unamused, his father lowered his chin and glared. “Brienne’s already made her choice and her choice is no. Straight from the horse’s mouth. I even talked to Serena, Johnny—whatever their names are. Your bride is deciding to reject you.”

Jaime’s heart turned septic, shutting down. He stared ahead, but every organ inside of him numbed. His skin did not feel the rising and swirling winds. Jaime tightened his spare hand into a fist. “This isn’t funny.”

“I agree,” his father said. “Her rejecting you is worse than you electing to go on this show.”

Tyrion shook his head. “Why would she say no?”

“Not everyone can be a Lannister.”

Jaime scowled. “I don’t believe you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t. I asked _your_ producer to tell you what he told me and he refused.”

Amidst hurried hands, Jaime slammed his beer on a table and pulled out his phone—dialing Jimmy. Three, painful rings in, he picked up.

“Hello?”

“What did Brienne say?”

Tyrion gazed around while their father burned his eyes into Jaime.

On the phone, Jimmy said, “Jaime, I know this night is very stressful for you, but—”

“What did she say to you?” Jaime’s voice turned curt and strong.

“She didn’t talk to me, she called Selena several times—”

“Did you talk to my father?” Jaime asked. He couldn’t believe it. Refused to. But with every poisoned heartbeat, his father’s story checked out.

“Yes, I talked with your father—is he with you right now? Fuck—you—shouldn’t be talking about this. I shouldn’t have talked to him either. Where are you?”

Shaking his head, Jaime said, “Tell me if she’s going to say no. Tell me.”

“I can’t tell you what I know. I wish I could. This will all be resolved tomorrow, I promise. We’re not judging anyone’s decision and it’s completely up to you and her.”

Jaime yanked the phone away from his face and clenched his jaw. He closed his eyes, wishing he spent more time talking with Brienne about the wedding. They hadn’t said a word about their future. He replayed their last moment together, when he kissed her goodbye after they moved out the apartment. _She didn’t bring her stuff to my place._ Jaime’s stomach lurched. His heart refused to comprehend his mind’s conclusion: the horrible realization Brienne planned to say _no._ She was going to break up with him on TV for millions to see. This wasn’t what he wanted—not at all. 

Thrusting the phone back into his view, Jaime dialed Brienne’s number. He needed her answer. The least she could do was explain why she called Selena several times—why Jaime’s father told him about her doubts and not _her_.

Dials went straight to voicemail. She either blocked his calls or her phone was off or—Jaime dialed again. Voicemail. He tried six times before his phone died, buzzing into a darkness that refused to cooperate.

“Fuck!!” Jaime shouted, almost throwing his phone across the patio.

“I’ll give you a ride,” his father said, zero sympathy in his tone.

“Tysha’s already on her way.” Tyrion had a plain expression, although his eyebrows curved inward when he looked at Jaime.

“Suit yourself. Millions will see you as strong or weak tomorrow. Make the right choice.” Their father turned and entered the sedan behind him.

It drove away, taking Jaime’s words with it. Neither Jaime nor Tyrion said anything, even when Tysha’s car rolled nearby to pick them up. Jaime climbed into the back of the car, glaring ahead while Tysha and Tyrion shared quick and hushed glances. Tyrion’s arm and hand rested on the center console while Tysha drove, heading back towards the AirBnB—as deemed in Jaime’s contract with the show. He was a puppet in someone else’s drama, and he needed to decide how best to protect himself.

Jaime wallowed away in his thoughts while he slumped to himself in the backseat. His eyes focused on Tyrion’s tapping fingers. Slowly, Tysha’s spare hand reached out and grabbed Tyrion’s, squeezing it. Jaime couldn’t look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've reached Jaime's breaking point of the story, hang in there! Only two chapters left! I plan on posting the last two chapters this weekend. :) <3


	15. Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People have spoken, and the fire under my ass compelled me to post this early. Enjoy!

“Tell me about the strippers again,” Margaery said. She leaned closer in her crimson bridal dress—perfect makeup airbrushed onto her skin like she was a model. Behind her, people shuffled around the white bridal dressing room to prepare red bouquets and flowers. 

Brienne’s eyes shifted to the lit mirror in front of her. She saw a face dusted with long-lasting and light foundation—freckles peeked out. Whispers of dark brown eyeliner ran along her eyelashes. Blended shades of gold and white made her blue eyes somehow bluer. She hoped she wouldn’t ruin the artist’s work by crying. “There’s not much to say—it’s more—” Brienne quieted, “what they did and how they did it.”

She enjoyed her bachelorette party with the other women on the show. Sansa and Brienne especially clung together. A limo bus picked them up, male strippers stormed on board and screams ensued. Lots of butts, pecs and abs. They twerked and thrust. Some bulges—penises swirled around in their briefs like a stringed cat toy. Several strippers gave Brienne _multiple_ dances—she wondered if someone paid them to give her more attention. Still, she much preferred the drag queen show at the gay bar. 

Margaery giggled and leaned back into her chair. The makeup artist smiled at Brienne and asked, “Eyelash extensions?”

On her own wedding day? A day she didn’t plan, didn't know what would happen or didn’t know how many times she would cry—how many times her chest might fumble into heart failure? “No.” At least she had Margaery, licensed physician, to bring herself back to life.

“Waterproof, tearproof mascara it is, girl.”

Brienne watched the woman’s technique as she turned Brienne’s blonde, straight eyelashes into a hint of femininity. As her ex-step mother said, there wasn’t much anyone could do to help her. Brienne looked at large glass windows and hoped to see sun rather than rain. No luck. A storm came overnight, both in reality and in her mind. Her heart beat so fast, all morning, her lungs quickened to make up for it.

She looked calm, or tried to. Cameras filmed her arrival to the wedding venue, makeup and it was now time to get dressed. She gave a quick interview and summarized her fears and her troubles. Nothing could convince her Jaime would be at the altar—let alone say “I do”. Producers said they wouldn’t include the bit where she said she wished she could talk to Jaime in private. It wasn’t really allowed... Ever since they moved out of the apartment, producers discouraged people from talking until the wedding: the climax of their show. 

Brienne slipped into her dress. Simple, white silk draped over her body. With Margaery’s support, Brienne opted for a modern silhouette dress. The dress started just below her neck and covered her entire chest. Without large breasts and without desire to have metal digging into her, she opted for straps—although given her height and the design of the dress, the straps barely stood out. White fabric flowed and flowed, and it pooled onto the floor into a small train. Cool air hit the small of her back—the dress showed off every inch of her back due to its low scoop.

As a child, she never imagined her wedding day. And here one was. Workers at the venue positioned the standing mirror to allow her to look. The dress had been tailored since her try on, two weeks prior. She looked like she almost had breasts and almost had a woman’s shape.

“Beautiful.”

Brienne turned to see Selena at the door. “Thank you.” But it hurt to say it. “Is it already time?” She wanted Selena to say yes—wanted to get this disaster over with.

“Not quite. Do you trust me?”

A heavy question. Brienne quickly calculated everything these producers had done for her, both good and bad. Trust was never easy, but their hearts were in the right place—she hoped. She found love, even if long-term love may have not found her. If she survived this far in life, she could survive anything. Brienne inhaled a deep breath, nodded her head and stepped forward. 

Selena stood near a hanging, fuzzy microphone and a camera. Brienne frowned. Selena gestured forward and down the hallway, stopping at an open door. Brienne followed. She calculated how best to walk in her dress. Inside the room, Cersei sat in the center with an open chair in front of her. Dressed in a golden, silk gown and donned with emerald jewelry, Jaime’s sister stood and smiled as if the two of them had been long friends.

A camera person shuffled in from the other side and ducked into a corner. He filmed both women as they gazed at one another. Brienne did not like Cersei, due to her manipulative behavior and Jaime’s warning. When given the choice, Brienne decided to hide her dislike for this woman by smiling. Unnecessary conflict did not interest her. Besides, Cersei did not bite or even bark—she whined.

Cersei and Brienne approached each other in a loose hug, both gave an attempt to avoid smudges and snags. Powerful perfume bit Brienne’s nose. They shared brief smiles, sat and chatted about poor weather. Brienne ignored her own runaway heart.

Offering a small, sympathetic smile, Cersei said, “One strong woman to another, I want to support you. Jaime had a very rough night—”

“Is he okay?” Brienne scowled, followed by a gnaw into the inside of her cheek. It was impossible to hide her concern. She should have called, texted—she wanted to, but her phone died when Sansa stole it to record a stripper dry humping Missandei’s shoulder. 

“Physically? Yes. Mentally, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s strong, but the pressure on him is unbelievable. I don’t—” Cersei paused and softly smiled. “I don’t want either of you hurt. And I know I can’t make your decision for you, but I want to make sure you know everything before you make the biggest decision of your life. A life you two have barely talked about or planned for. Call it twin intuition but—I feel deep, deep in my heart he’s going to walk away empty handed.” She leaned forward and touched Brienne’s hand. “Strong women deserve to make their own rules and choices. Imagine all the little girls watching at home. They’d hate to see you—”

“It sounds like you genuinely care about my wellbeing,” Brienne said, not meaning a single word of it. She’d heard enough. _Is there a polite way to say shut the fuck up?_ Many patients tried to manipulate her, and in this moment, she saw Cersei’s manipulations from a world away.

Cersei smiled, sat straight and pulled her hand back with a grimace. “Of course. No matter what happens, I am here for you.”

A pause.

Selena scowled and said, “Cersei, what do you have to say about the phone calls?”

Cersei squinted, but the edge of her lips pulled into a faint smile. “I’m sorry, phone calls?”

Selena, in her standard dark jeans and blouse, stepped into the room with a laptop. Both Cersei and Brienne froze—a producer who walked into scene was abnormal, to say the least. She pushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear and opened the laptop. When she set it on the table, Selena said, “Keep filming, even though I’m in the shot.” Brienne and Cersei shared a steady look, but Brienne dropped her smile. 

“Listen,” Selena said, pressing play on a video.

In the video, Selena and several other producers were outside the main filming set. Selena frowned, beckoned a camera over and held her phone in front of her. The video shook as the camera person ran to stand beside her.

Selena asked the phone, “Sorry, who is this?”

“Brienne,” the speaker said, but the voice wasn’t Brienne’s. The voice sounded more feminine with a subtle inflection to try and sound deeper. Brienne’s lungs stopped as the video and voice continued—”I can’t bring myself to break up with Jaime on the altar. I need you to tell him today.”

“I—” Selena said, looking at the camera with a confused expression. “I can’t do that.”

“I’ll pay whatever I need to have him off camera,” the voice said. “I’ve met someone else—” 

Selena paused the video. 

Brienne’s lips trembled as her eyes turned to look at Cersei, who looked at Brienne as if she betrayed her. Selena said, “We received four more calls yesterday, all demanding us to tell Jaime, pull Jaime out of the show, bribery—”

“That wasn’t me,” Brienne said. She wished her shoulders broadened, ready to defend her honor, but they slumped. Her teeth quivered so uncontrollably she couldn’t bite her cheek or tongue for comfort. She knew that voice from the video: it was Cersei’s. _Don’t cry, don’t cry._

Shaking her head, Selena said, “I’ve listened to you talk for hours—I _know_ your voice. I knew it wasn’t you from the start.” The producer’s eyes fell onto Cersei. “Who do you think did this?”

“I’m not sure why you want my opinion,” Cersei said. She swallowed once.

“She may be your sister-in-law soon,” Selena said.

Cersei glanced at Brienne once and smirked.

“No,” Brienne said, and refused to play a passive role in this. She stared at Cersei. “This sounded like you. Why did you do this?” She wondered if Jaime had been too dramatic about his family—but all this time, he tried to protect her. It warmed her heart to the point it burned.

With a lean back, Cersei frowned and shook her head. Her expression denied it.

Hiding her opinions for far too long, Brienne said calmly, as if at work, “I know why. You’re jealous. You want to live vicariously through Jaime and it hurts to see him happy, hurts to see him on a TV show. He can’t possibly have something better than you. Did it ever occur to you that your words might hurt him or hurt me?” Brienne glared, her forehead tense with white, wrinkled lines.

“Those are a lot of assumptions...” Cersei said, flabbergasted.

Brienne stood and looked down on her. “Selena, did you tell Jaime she did this?”

“No.”

“I don’t want Cersei in this venue anymore. Can we do that?” Brienne looked to Selena, who nodded.

Cersei stood and winced. “I kindly ask you to reconsider—”

“Goodbye, Cersei,” Brienne said and turned to walk out of the room.

“I’m afraid I won’t see you for quite some time,” Cersei said, voice beautiful and words a lie.

But Brienne smiled, stopped and turned to look at her. _Say it._ She tilted her head to the side, her chin lifted. “Maybe. I’ll probably see you at work.”

Brienne wished she had a mic to drop. Well, technically she did, but it was strapped and hidden under her dress strap. Dropping a small mic wouldn’t have the same effect, but the jaw-dropped face on Jaime’s sister gave Brienne enough satisfaction. She stepped out and Selena followed, saying, “You handled that well.” 

Maybe Brienne did, maybe she didn’t. It was one thing to tell off a patient, which never ended well—but it would be another if Cersei _became_ Brienne’s sister. Still, deep down, she had doubts Jaime truly wanted to marry her. It seemed much more likely he would say no—right? They rarely verbalized it, and listening to Gilly and Missandei gush their love for their men the previous night made Brienne thankful for Margaery’s surprise getaway—just in case Jaime said no. Brienne asked, “Is Jaime okay?”

Selena eyed Brienne and said, “Jimmy says he’s fine and he took care of it this morning. We think Cersei and Jaime’s father worked together on this. Another visitor is in your dressing room, but I promise it isn’t Cersei or Tywin. We’ll keep those two out. Even we’ve had enough of their drama.” 

Nerves exploded when she saw her father dressed in his tux. He chatted with Margaery in the dressing room. He had never been the closest or most protective father, but she loved him anyway. His support meant everything and his beaming smile almost helped her forget all other worries. “You look beautiful,” he said. 

Brienne grimaced, smiled and nodded. Her hand accepted bubbling champagne from Margaery while they sat beside a warm fireplace. Her friend and father drove most of the conversation, and Brienne slipped into her own inner dialogue more than once. _If Cersei tried to pretend to be me… what did she try to do to Jaime? And Tywin…_ She knew Tywin had no interest in being filmed, so there was little risk he was here. And with Cersei gone, Brienne could only hope Jaime trusted Brienne well enough to not believe his family. _Believe some new woman over his own blood. This will never work._ A lifelong commitment did not come easily to her, and she could only imagine Jaime’s struggle with the same concept. He had everything. Looks. Money. Intelligence. Compassion. And he was still single when Brienne met him. _Why in gods’ name am I in this mess? This can’t be real._

Selena poked her head in with a smile. “It’s time.”

With closed eyes, Brienne’s gut twisted and turned. Margaery gave Brienne a quick peck on her cheek and slipped out. Brienne spent a moment alone with her father. Cameras loomed.

“I’m scared,” Brienne whispered, fighting back trembles.

Selwyn frowned. After a deep breath, his fatherly voice said, “He’ll be scared when I walk down that aisle with you.”

A shy smile erupted from her. He didn’t mean his protective statement. He said it to make her laugh, just like Jaime tried to make her laugh when she was nervous. But Jaime wasn’t here with her. He waited for her—prepared to either suffocate her heart or give it life at the altar. _He can’t possibly say “I do” to me._

Brienne nodded, stood and mustered all remaining drops of courage within her soul. Cersei had reminded her: people watched. At the very least, Brienne _needed_ to keep her dignity… and she had already made it so far already. Either outcome, she wanted to show people at home vulnerability and authenticity were worth it in the end. 

She barely remembered walking down the stairs, arm looped through her father’s. Her heels, short and hidden, clicked on wooden floors. They turned and walked towards a wall of white curtains. Around them, tall centerpieces of bare, twisted branches tangled in white string lights. Brienne dizzied. Everything up until this point felt so real—she wondered when the dream would end.

A male voice said inside the ceremony room, “Please stand as we bring in our beautiful bride.”

It felt like meeting Jaime for the first time—the time she dove for cover. She wished she saw his first reaction to her—that must have been authentic. A wince. A frown. Maybe nothing. 

The white curtains separated and her eyes traveled down a long stretch of white carpet. People stood on either side and turned to look at Brienne. Her eyes continued, up a set of white steps and a podium with two men surrounded by towers of red roses and arrangements. Jaime, more beautiful than any rose, stood in a tux with clenched hands clasped in front of him—his lips quivered into a breathless smile while he looked at her.

Selwyn stepped forward. Brienne followed. One shallow inhale every few steps. The moment she stepped onto the carpet, a harpist plucked her strings. Brienne’s eyes latched onto Jaime’s, who refused to look away. Margaery sniffled as Brienne floated by. 

Brienne wasn’t quite sure how she ended up on the podium. She reached her hands out once Selwyn stepped back, and Jaime immediately took her hands to hold them. His fingers were cold, and she was unable to think or experience anything else. His eyes bore into her. This was fucking real.

“You may now sit,” the officiant said. “We come here today to witness a beautiful ceremony of Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister. We thank you all for coming. Before we continue, we ask for words from the bride.”

She cleared her throat, sounding like a feminine princess. Jaime blinked, smiled and squeezed her hand harder, for a moment. Brienne took a deep breath and recalled the words she spent hours rehearsing in her mind. “This is the most beautiful experience of my entire life. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’re everything I could possibly want—” Brienne’s eyes welled and her words pattered into whispers. Her hammered heart begged her to ramble out the rest, but her body remained strong enough to breathe. She wet her lips and said, “I’ve never been happier, and sharing our vulnerabilities helped shape that. On the first day we met, in the pods, you said you don’t choose who you love. I said I didn’t believe you. But the love you’ve shown me—” Barely a whisper, she said, “I believe you now.”

Jaime closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. He lowered his head, wincing. Brienne squeezed his hands and he squeezed back. She couldn’t take back what she said, and she meant every word. His reaction looked painful, and it stung enough to cut straight through her. _Is this the end?_

Amid a deep inhale, he looked up and the officiant gestured Jaime to speak. Jaime’s throat bobbed and he returned his gaze into Brienne’s eyes: intense and full. “As you said, I don’t choose who I love.” He winced again, but soon smiled. “And I love you. I’m thankful for the time we’ve spent together. You’ve helped me grow into a better person. I wish—” Jaime let out a shaky breath, “I wish our mothers were here to see this.”

More tears formed and Brienne nodded. She bit her bottom lip.

Jaime looked down, and his jaw stuck out for a moment to compose himself. Within a few seconds, he snapped his gaze back to Brienne and said with a shaky smile, “I didn’t practice any of this.”

They both nervously chuckled. If he was about to break her heart, he did it with such purity it made her weak.

“I wanted to tell you what I honestly thought when I saw you today. No made up speech, no one liners. Just me... You,” he nodded his head, “are beautiful.”

Brienne froze. And stared. He smiled. _He means it._

“Brienne and Jaime. Now is the time to decide if love is truly blind. Your love developed in a nontraditional way: based on an intense, emotional connection. Looks, money, age and race, that might be important for some people, were not factors for you two. Today, you stand together and need to decide if love is blind. Whether or not to face life together as husband and wife. Or walk away from each other forever.”

Worried her heart might burst out of her chest, Brienne reminded her lungs to breathe. 

“Brienne Tarth, do you take Jaime Lannister to be your lawful wedded husband? To live together in matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, so long as you both shall live?”

Jaime’s hands turned clammy, and his lips still quivered. 

Brienne gripped his hands, smiled and said, “I do.”

A shuddered breath escaped him and he lowered his head—hands weakened. Brienne smiled briefly and swallowed. She wondered if she said something wrong—wondered if she set herself up for inevitable heartbreak and a lifetime of loneliness. 

“Jaime Lannister, do you take Brienne Tarth to be your lawful wedded wife? To live together in matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, so long as you both shall live?”

Jaime rubbed his lips together and continued to hold her hands. He flexed and squeezed her fingers between his. He frowned as he looked up at her. Brienne’s heart split open and poured itself into an open pit of despair while their eyes locked.

“I was wrong,” Jaime said.

Brienne’s face whitened and all the blood in her body pooled—ready to take flight and run away. People whispered.

He said, “I’ve been wrong this entire time.”

Brienne closed her eyes. Brick by brick of invisible wall stacked around her body, soul and mind.

“I said I can’t choose who I love. But it’s wrong, because I choose you. And I will choose you again and again for the rest of my life. I love you.”

Opening her eyes and lowering her walls, Brienne saw love for what it truly was. Jaime smiled and swirled in his own world of emotional nerves as she smiled back. He loved her, and this realization opened her mind to a lifetime of possibilities, happiness and adoration. Brienne wanted to lean forward and kiss him senseless— 

The officiant whispered, “Say I do—”

“I do!” Jaime said, and he blinded Brienne with his smile.

“Brienne and Jaime, you may now call yourselves husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

He kissed her—romantic and with earnestness. She tasted fear off his lips, but as claps and cheers surrounded them, his jitters turned vulnerably sweet. They walked down the aisle in smiles. Together, tight hand in tight hand.

The rest of their afternoon at the venue was a dreamy blur—as if someone plopped her into a musical. All doubts erased from her mental page of anguish, and underneath was a beautiful peacefulness she wished she discovered earlier. Selena, Jimmy and others popped champagne while Jaime and Brienne signed papers, making their marriage official and legal. It took Jaime a whopping thirty seconds to smile at the camera and say, “I’m off the market.” 

Brienne clung onto him, unable to let him go until she saw Margaery and her father at the reception—she jumped up and down with glee.

“Have fun on your _honeymoon._ Congratulations,” Margaery said and grinned.

A sigh fluttered out of Brienne, a deep enough inhale for her to remember the crew had taken off her microphone and transmitter. She was almost free. Cameras still lingered during the reception, but this party would be the last of it. _Where are we going to live? His house?_ She turned to Jaime, who crouched to hug his brother. If the thought didn’t bother Jaime, she didn’t allow it to bother her. She had her reception to enjoy: a world full of DJ pop music (no country), tiered chocolate cake and dances. Her father practically tore up the floor with his stanky leg dance—in a good way.

She didn’t expect a bittersweet goodbye with Selena, Jimmy and others. They hugged tightly, smiling through their success story. “Can you tell me who else married?” Brienne asked.

Selena smirked and Jimmy smiled. Selena explained, “I can’t. Privacy reasons. I can’t tell them you made it either. I can tell you some made it, some didn’t. We have a small crew of editors, but hopefully it’s only a few months before we get the show ready to debut. Once it’s out, you can talk with the public about it.”

“Of course,” Jimmy said, “you can tell people you’re married, just keep it quiet online, especially once the show comes out. We’ll let you know when we go live, so you can privatize social media. No one likes spoilers. You two are my favorite—don’t tell anyone else.”

“I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or my wife,” Jaime said.

“Both,” Brienne said, and everyone laughed.

More claps, confetti and sparklers greeted their walk towards their limo. The sun peeped from behind clouds and illuminated thousands of beads of water on the black car in front of them. When they climbed onto clean leather seats, Brienne leaned forward and said, “I actually want to go somewhere different.” She handed the limo driver her phone with the address to the resort Margaery booked.

“Didn’t the show set something up for us?” Jaime asked. His expression, addictive, distracted her.

“I have something else planned.” Brienne smirked—her eyes traveled down his left arm and focused on the silver band on his ring finger. This was fucking real.

Jaime twisted his smile and peered out the limo. “As long as there’s sun, I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Brienne’s smirk darkened. His cheesy cliches almost worked on her. He hated cold and wet places like the North.

As expected, continued to talk and said, “Vitamin D is important. Helps your field in preventing depression, helps my field fighting infection—I would take off my tux right now to get a good dose, but I don’t want you to have to fight people today.”

Without a word, the driver buzzed the window closed between the back and front of the limo, and left Jaime and Brienne in a fit of giggles.

“You didn’t tell me you planned this,” Jaime said. He held her hand.

Brienne could tell from his smile that he wanted to devour her—but he held himself back with conversation as distraction. She grinned and said, “I didn’t. Margaery planned it as a girls staycation in case—”

“I’m so sorry we didn’t talk about this before, I didn’t know—”

“I would say yes? I’ve wanted to say yes this entire time. I didn’t know—”

“Me, too. And it’s nice not to have cameras or family around us for once.”

Brienne gave a tight smile. “Selena caught Cersei pretending to be me, trying to stop the wedding…”

Jaime closed his eyes and sighed. “She tricked my father to warn me you would say no. He doesn’t know you like I do. He probably never will, and that’s his loss. We’ll be fine and happy without them.”

_I know him and I know Cersei, because I see patients like them every day._ Neither of them scared her, and it appeared neither of them scared Jaime enough either.

“I admire you,” he said, ogling over her. “And I love it when you blush, just like that.”

Brienne averted her eyes away with a faint smile.

“You should go on a staycation with Margaery. After ours, of course.” 

Turning back to him, she smiled wider, loving his support. “You should, too. With Tyrion.”

“A few bar hops here and there will be enough. I get to brag about my wedding night the same way he did ten years ago—”

Brienne tackled him like he was the last slice of cake left at a party. They paused their grapple when the driver knocked on the window—their hair frazzled and her makeup likely smudged. Her dress made it out okay, but Jaime’s look in his eye guaranteed the dress wouldn’t be on for much longer.

With their belongings and hurried steps, the two of them whisked to their resort suite: a separate unit overlooking Blackwater River. It looked far too romantic for a friendly staycation, which meant Margaery had already placed her bets Jaime and Brienne would both say “I do”.

Wooden floors and ceilings greeted them, along with thick, red curtains, warm lights, white king sized bed, plush couch and kitchenette. The smell of firewood, a subtle smokiness, stood out to Brienne, and she admired the crackling fire in a fireplace near the center of the suite. Rose petals sprinkled the bed—and floated in a large circular tub near the corner of the room, filled with water. It would be a miracle if Jaime would take a bath without protest, but the mere thought made Brienne smirk. Flameless candles flickered on the floor and led to a small dresser with champagne, glasses and chocolate dipped strawberries.

As soon as the door closed, their luggage dropped—silence and solitude welcomed their smiles and a return of their earlier wrestle. Jaime stopped to kiss the back of her neck. Shivers trickled down her spine while he slipped both of her dress straps over her shoulders and down her arms. They fell like the walls surrounding her heart.

She turned, unwilling to see herself more naked than him. He had already slipped off his tuxedo jacket. His loosened, black tie draped over his neck. Brienne seized both ends and pulled him to the bed with a confident smirk.

When clothes slipped off, Jaime retreated to his luggage across the suite. Brienne sat on the bed and tilted her head to the side when he pulled out a violet object with a pointed tip. She almost blushed when she realized it was a new vibrator. Jaime swooped over her and placed the vibrator between her spread thighs, showing her how it worked—and it worked. A small, hollow area slipped over her clit and gave her an intense sensation of sucking like a wave, back and forth. She arched her back, so consumed by the different tingles throughout her body she failed to hear how different this vibrator sounded when compared to her ladybug. Brienne tensed, closed her eyes and moaned.

She opened her eyes to see him staring at her face, not her wet cunt, hardened nipples or his own hard cock. He stared at her face. He lowered the setting so the vibrator hummed and teased.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Brienne asked. She had caught him staring at her before while she used vibrators, but she gained courage to ask now. 

“I love watching you,” he said, still gazing over her features. “You get this look of pleasure I can’t look away.”

“What does it look like?”

Jaime wet his lips. “Elegant abandon.”

Shivers rippled through her from his words. Her eyes smiled and lowered to see the wedding band again on his left hand. Now, she was a married woman. In only six weeks, she met, argued and fell in love with a man brave enough to do the same exact thing.

Brienne reached forward, ignoring thoughts in her mind comparing herself to the most awkward porn star in the world. She smirked and guided Jaime onto her back, him willingly allowing her to position him how she wanted. She inched her way forward, and he smirked when he realized what she wanted to do.

Her leg swung over his face and gently, she lowered her cunt over his mouth. He moaned, gripped her thigh and encouraged her to lean more weight onto him. The power and control while slowly grinding over him felt more aggressive than in her fantasy—not nearly how she imagined it would feel like. The mere fact he tried it out turned her on more than the actual act—and she burst into chuckles when his stubble tickled her.

She fumbled backwards and left his chin, lips and nose wet as her back plunged onto the soft, down comforter. He laughed with her and turned to tease her with an exaggeration of his tongue licking his bottom lip. Brienne bit her lip and shook her head. A rose petal stuck to his forearm, and her eyes traveled to take in the rest of the petals across the bed. She had lived in so different beds over the weeks she hardly remembered what her bed looked like—and it didn’t matter. 

New vibrator in hand, she nudged Jaime onto his back again and straddled him. As his cock slipped inside her, their smiles turned to moans and their faces immersed in pleasure. He looked up at her like she was beautiful. Even if society had told her repeatedly she was not pretty, she was. She _was_ beautiful. She finally believed it.

The vibrator buzzed, her hips flexed and his cock thrust—the way she liked. Her climax tingled and waited to completely overtake her, but she held back. She continued to ride Jaime until his abs tightened and his hands gripped her thighs. His throat bobbed, rigid enough to show his artery pulsing fast. He was close—his tension filled moans and buried cock proved it. She waited, lost in the sight of the thin layer of sweat across his chest and forehead. Despite not moving, he lost his breath and growled. His last attempt at any primal sense of control held her waist tight against him while he thrust deeper. Her cunt lingered for him, achingly holding her own orgasm back until she heard him moan and feel his cock spill inside her. She came with him—a spark fell into the middle of an open field and engulfed her center into a fire. It spread faster than wildfire throughout her body, to the tips of her toes and the edge of her fingers, all the way through her heart and mind.

When she turned the vibrator off and slumped forward, they both tangled in their exhaustion. 

She rested her head on his chest, like their first morning together, and she listened to his tachycardic heart.

“I’ll take it—that was a good purchase,” he said.

Brienne lifted her face to smirk at him. She expected him to smirk. He only smiled, sending a look of love. She found love, and contrary to her belief, love found her. “Where do you think we’ll be a year from now?” she asked.

He rubbed her back. Jaime refused to let a moment go by without touching her. “Happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on the last chapter first draft. It's set a year or so later, when the show debuts. I'm wrapping up loose ends about other characters and some minor mysteries--but please let me know what tidbits you'd like to see. I'll try and work them in if I think it works and if I see it soon enough. The final chapter will go up this weekend, likely Sat or Sun. :) <3


	16. Jaime

Towers of boxes and disassembled furniture littered their new home. Zoe waddled her way back and forth between rooms and sniffed invisible spots. _Thank the gods I don’t have a dog’s nose._ Her nails clicked on the wooden floor and gave odd echoes as she walked through the home. Jaime tried to spot her, hidden in the seas and mountains of cardboard stacked against white walls. Every blank wall would be filled with gods knew what soon.

In the kitchen, Jaime unpacked his box of coffee products and Brienne’s kettle. He used her kettle far more often than he intended, but it helped him whenever he made pour over coffee. Based on the goosebumps trickling down his arm from the winter air in a new home, it was time to make some coffee.

He weighed 23 grams of beans, always fresh, on a scale and ground them into a medium grind. Foreign sounds of Brienne walking through the home made him pause—every sound in this house was new to him. They both took days off to unpack, but they knew it was a delicious lie. Jaime’s fingers danced on the handle of the kettle of boiling water. He pre-wet the filter on his dripper, or else the temperature will make the coffee sour—or, gods forgive him, coffee would host a paper-like flavor. No, this coffee needed its chocolate notes to shine. Brienne loved chocolate.

Jaime poured out water from the dripper and added grounds. After he flattened them, he added hot water—held back the kettle—and allowed the grounds to bloom. His nose picked up scents of roasted bean: fruity and oh-so-amazing. He proceeded to pour the rest in slow circles, followed by a gentle stir and more patience than a four year old staring at unattended candy. The wait ended once a few last drops remained, and those never tasted good. Jaime lifted the filter and turned to put it in compost—but there was no compost to put it. 

“Need help?” Brienne approached with open hands, ready to burn herself.

“Where’s the compost?”

She stopped, smirked and turned to a pile of boxes. “It’s in the box labeled “compost”.” 

Like a professional mover, she whipped out a box cutter from somewhere in her leggings, a gastly choice to store a razor, and opened a box. Out came a small, stainless steel container. She lifted the handle and Jaime plopped the filter in. Brienne lingered, a pause in her ambitious energy to unpack. He took advantage and leaned forward with a kiss, soft and slow. Over a year of marriage and he still hadn’t tired of kissing her.

Brienne pulled back—a smile in her eyes. “Thanks for making coffee. I ordered food because…” She looked around the bare kitchen. “Do we need mugs?”

Jaime nodded.

“I can’t wait to see how they show our first argument.” She opened another box and pulled out a mug with two cartoon bacteria underneath a “Cultured” logo. Her hand snatched her trademark blue mug and she waited while Jaime poured coffee. “Are you excited?” she asked.

He caught himself staring at her leggings, curious how many pockets they had. “Sort of,” he admitted. The show Love is Blind had been out for a few weeks. It took the crew a year to edit it, but after the first episode aired, trending topics and phrases scattered throughout social media. Tyrion said Jaime trended several times—people called him “Prince Charming until he opens his mouth”. Jaime appreciated the title. Jaime and Brienne made a pact to binge watch it all at once—ten episodes, all today. How producers and editors portrayed them worried Jaime most.

“Sansa says not to worry.”

Sansa and Brienne remained close friends and decent sources of gossip. Brienne spilled Theon and Sansa didn’t actually get married as soon as Sansa admitted it. According to Brienne, Sansa said “I do not” and Theon stormed off set—a complete drama shit show. But they made up shortly after and continued to date. Sansa revealed Oberyn and Ellaria never married either. _Not surprising._ Last Jaime heard from Oberyn, he traveled out of the country.

They walked over to the couch, the singular furniture set up in their home. After they set their mugs on cardboard coffee tables, Brienne clicked the remote and turned Wesflix on. _Love Is Blind_ trended #1 on Wesflix. Jaime’s heart pinched itself. Both Jaime and Brienne stared. Neither of them wanted to be famous, but it sounded less and less of a choice. They deleted all social media accounts as soon as people found them weeks ago—but now they were about to see what everyone else saw.

A bright picture of them and their friends plastered across the screen, followed by an automatic trailer of everyone walking into the pods. As soon as Brienne heard her own voice, she panicked and clicked the right arrow on the remote. The screen landed their selection on an entirely different show.

Jaime squinted at bears and a man with a horseshoe mustache. The second trending show had to be the weirdest thing he ever saw. “Jorah Exotic stars on Bear King, only on Wesflix. Who the hell would watch this?”

The doorbell rang and Brienne scurried off to get their food. Jaime wished he made himself a depressant drink rather than a stimulant. His fingertips grew cold.

“These raw oysters smell amazing,” she said. Jaime blinked when she came over with two large containers of jajangmyeon. “I also heard this house comes with a cat.”

“Funny, I can kick out the tenants of our other house right now and move—”

“Kidding, kidding,” Brienne said. She plopped onto the couch and snuggled next to Jaime. Zoe approached to sniff the noodles while Brienne mixed the sauce in.

Jaime cleared his throat. “You know, whatever we see…” He worked himself into a rare tizzy—concerned the scenes, background and interviews might strain their peaceful relationship. The mere thought of sudden fame made Jaime rub his wrist— 

“Jaime,” she said and leaned closer. “I love you. How many couples can see their love story like this? We can talk about anything if it worries us. I’m ready. Are you ready?” She returned back to her seat and plopped a hefty amount of dark-sauced noodles into her mouth. Nothing truly scared this woman—and he fucking loved it.

Jaime nodded, pressed play on “Love Is Blind Episode 1”, and scooped his own chunk of delicious, dark bean sauce and noodles. Sweet and savory notes sprinkled onto his tongue. _What would I do without fermentation?_

Their large TV darkened and started the show. Their show. Jaime and Brienne watched familiar faces, and unfamiliar, enter the venue. Jaime paused the show to ask who was who when a shot of every female sat in the common area, and Brienne pointed out Melissandre, Osha, Meera and Arianne. Brienne grumbled when Jaime revealed Hyle, Ron, Edric and Arys. Brienne blushed when the camera lingered on her sitting on the couch—she didn’t blush nearly as often as she used to. Jaime smiled.

Zoe curled up into a small ball on the floor in front of them while the show continued. Jaime let out a laugh when he saw Brienne stumble into her first pod. Beside him, she flushed red again. Out of nowhere, Jaime appeared on screen with his casual smirk and casual stance. It showed him walking in slow motion, suited and... glorified. He was a goddamn model.

“Hot,” Brienne said, mid-bite.

“I’m sorry, say that again?” Jaime cocked his head and studied her side eyes in his direction.

The show focused on Missandei and Grey first, a cute couple. They were still married, Brienne said. Conversation from Theon and Sansa came next, and sparks cascaded all over the screen. Odd music played as the show transitioned into an awkward segment. It showed Jaime stuffing his face with candy while Gilly asked him a question from her pod.

“You’re the resident asshole!” Brienne said beside him and gripped his arm.

Jaime scoffed as the show transitioned to him and his date with Arianne. This was going to be good. “No, no, no, just wait,” he said.

But the show skipped their entire conversation—it showed Jaime’s frown at her ridiculous lines. The screen cut to Jaime’s interview, where he said, “She’s as fucked up as a football bat.”

_Oh, boy._ Jaime slowly turned his eye to Brienne. _I forgot I said that._

Brienne glared.

“What?” Jaime said, “I was right!”

Both quieted when the show displayed Jaime in one pod and Brienne in another. “How tall are you?” Brienne said in the show. On his couch, with a harsh frown, Jaime said, “Taller than you, I suppose.” The show displayed Brienne’s wince and Jaime’s ramble. “Why even ask such a question on a show where looks are not supposed to matter?... I have enough _length_ for the both of us, if that’s what you want.” 

Jaime’s throat tightened. He knew where this argument led to.

“Do you make a habit of using innuendos for your cock on a first date?” Brienne said on the screen. Music stopped. “Oh sh—can I say that?” From inside his pod, Jaime’s eyes widened and he glared at the camera. “Can she say _that?_ ”

Brienne burst out in laughs beside him, even after their filmed argument cut directly into an interview with Brienne where she said, “I don’t like him, and I don’t appreciate him.” Her face meant business.

Cuddles continued as they watched love sprout on the screen. Ellaria and Arianne liked him far more than he originally thought. And so many people fell in love with Brienne’s voice. Jaime’s mouth fell open when he saw the group of women discuss penis size—Brienne covered her face with her hands, both in the show and beside him.

Pod dates resumed and more awkwardness splayed across the screen. Ellaria and Drogo shared a quiet date, and Brienne smiled up until the point Ellaria said, “I can’t date someone so antisocial.”

“Pause,” Brienne said. “I _hate_ that phrase. It’s like no one knows what antisocial means and they’re wrong. They mean asocial, not antisocial. Antisocial means sociopathy and someone who manipulates others. They’re witty, charming—the complete opposite from a shy person who doesn’t want to talk. It’s just some meme now.”

Jaime reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I think it’s like stomach flu—”

“I’ll cough out my butt on the next person who says it.”

“Wow, I love you. Can I press play now?”

“Yes.”

With so many couples to show, they showed a few minutes of Brienne and Jaime in the first episode. They let the dramatic trailer for the season play as a transition until the next episode. To their surprise, the second episode opened with Jaime and Brienne’s mistake date the next day. Jaime remembered her reaction impressed him—she didn’t shy away when she realized it was him. He laughed at her grimaces the same exact way he chuckled when he heard her discomfort in the pods. But they connected as they played a cat and mouse game of guessing his profession. Jaime wrapped his arm around Brienne and pulled her closer. His heart sang as they watched their first legitimate, yet skeptical, smiles towards one another.

Their cornerstone anchored the moment they shared the loss of their mothers, and Jaime knew the rest was history. The show hooked them in, and they watched themselves and others fall in love. Arys mentioned he was bisexual and the thought of revealing it scared him. The man never mentioned his sexuality once to other men. Jaime was thankful the show did not mention Arianne or Ron’s discussion about Brienne’s beauty—none of it made the cut. Only Brienne’s own doubtful words and fears mentioned her perceived troubles, and Jaime rubbed her arm as they watched.

Unsure how they did it, the show managed to swing Jaime’s proposal without the awkward camera moments, and made the scene more romantic than it felt at the time. He could still feel his heart from that day—scared and infatuated.

“I’m going to see your reaction,” Brienne said, and she squeezed him tighter. “I’m worried.”

“Why are you worried?” Jaime said and looked down at her face on his chest. He knew better than to hear her answer. “Don’t be worried. You’ll see.”

The episode ended and Brienne squealed. Jaime worried he might die within seconds. They held each other as the next episode began, and it showed Jaime in his suit and Brienne in her dress—the day they first saw each other. Drama swelled to the point of explosion and both of them waited and watched while the film showed Brienne’s fear. Jaime smirked when he saw Brienne duck away as the door opened. Subtle romantic music played. Jaime looked damn good, even with his hand over his face.

Producers managed to capture Brienne’s fear, because Jaime felt it as a viewer. Her interview chilled him and revealed inner thoughts worthy of a hefty cry. But Jaime melted when he watched Brienne’s first reaction to seeing him: fear. He continued to dissolve as they tip toed together on screen. 

“You are taller than me, I can feel it.” The show subtitled their whispers. “I told you—” Brienne said, but Jaime interrupted her, “You smell amazing. Vanilla. I should have known.” 

Jaime watched Brienne’s lip disappear, a sure sign of discomfort. She was the bravest woman he knew. 

“You’re scared,” Jaime whispered on the show. “Close your eyes if it makes you feel better, if you don’t want to see my reaction.”

Brienne clenched him while they watched her say, “Okay.”

As Jaime watched Brienne close her eyes on the screen, he smirked. Both Brienne and Jaime saw the two of them drift a couple feet apart, her eyes closed and his eyes still closed. They held hands and his eyes continued to clench shut. He never opened them.

Beside him, Brienne gasped—mortified. 

Jaime bit his lip and released it. “Hold on, hold on—”

He watched himself step closer and reach a spare hand to cup her face. _Fuck, she smelled amazing._ On screen, Jaime blindly leaned forward and kissed her—without ever opening his eyes. There was no need. He loved her anyway. It didn’t occur to him until he saw all of the other couples that their first kiss was far longer and more tender than everyone else’s excited first kiss. Jaime wouldn’t change a thing.

Brienne’s fingers dug into the side of his chest while they watched Jaime pull away from the kiss—and their eyes opened together. He remembered seeing her eyes first, blue and beautiful. They smiled.

She paused the show. “You _never_ opened your eyes?!”

Uh-oh. “Is that _bad_? You saw my first reaction the first time—”

Brienne pinned him underneath her strong thighs and forced him to kiss her, but he would have complied even if she asked nicely. Zoe noticed the change in mood and slinked off to another room in order to give them privacy. Neither of them paid attention to the still screen of their faces smiling and ogling at each other—likely the most intimate moment they ever shared. As Jaime pulled down his pajamas and briefs, Brienne pulled out a smaller, newer vibrator out of her back pocket. _She always plans ahead. And always seems to have pockets._ She wiggled out of her leggings and straddled his lap. One hand buzzed the vibrator between them while her other clenched onto his t-shirt collar. Little time passed before their moans echoed throughout the room, and Jaime gripped her ass while they came together.

She continued to kiss him over and over again when they took a quick shower after. Jaime loved her more than he did on their first day together, and he could tell by her confident smirks she did, too.

Hair wet and fragrant, they settled back onto the couch in a fresh set of clothes. Jaime pressed play, and both of them laughed when they saw lipstick all over Jaime’s face.

“Still hot,” Brienne said.

The show, however, continued to heat up. It boiled when Arys and Arianne argued at a pool after their first night together. He revealed his sexuality and she took the news poorly. Jaime and Brienne grimaced as they watched the argument escalate into a mess of insults and profanities.

Jaime’s first blowup came after Arys and Arianne’s exit—and they subtitled _everything._

Fuck.

He meant what he said, he truly did, but he hoped they left the part out about his family like they left it out of the pods. But they left it in. Jaime closed his eyes.

Since filming, Jaime’s father tightened reins on his business as it entered a sharp decline. Recessions hit hard for most companies and professions, and his father failed to have immunity. No doubt, he would come back with a punch—but the distraction meant he left Jaime and Brienne alone. They barely talked, and for the time being, it worked for everyone.

Cersei, however, always had her own set of plans. She continued to deny her involvement in the attempted sabotage, but as soon as the show aired, she paid her own way to a self-discovery retreat in the deserts of Essos. She lasted a day before she cancelled and came back. When the second Love is Blind episode came out a few weeks ago, Tyrion said Cersei jumped on the social media train ride and tried to claim participation. But no one knew who she was. Jaime wondered if the later episodes would give people enough motivation to give her fame—but then again, he didn’t care.

The show did an amazing job at cutting out almost every important conversation, especially ones never filmed or recorded. Sam and Gilly appeared more awkward than Jaime remembered and Sansa and Theon showed off a few forced arguments on their yacht date. Brienne’s interviews gave Jaime’s stomach a lurch—she was so self-conscious it hurt him. He wished they had many, many more deep conversations than they had, but then again, it was hard to open up. They walked a paper-thin line between soulmate and stranger. Everyone did.

Each couple possessed their own struggles. Dany and Drogo argued over work conflicts. Gilly and Sam discussed money troubles. Ellaria and Oberyn battled jealousy. Grey and Missandei seemed to have the calmest most respectable relationship out of the bunch. Sansa and Theon portrayed a rocky relationship, full of highs and lows. Jaime and Brienne dealt with family and looks—nothing surprising to Jaime. They really did struggle with those issues. _Thank the gods we pulled through._

They took a quick break and Brienne came back with chocolate ice cream for him and strawberry ice cream for her. In silence, they watched each couple move into the temporary apartment and meet family. Jaime re-lived meeting her father, a scarier man than he really was. Selwyn, Jaime and Brienne shared a group text message and when the show debuted, Selwyn would send a thumbs up emoji every time a new episode came out. Jaime got along well with him, although they didn’t discuss sports as often as Selwyn preferred. Jaime smiled at the memory of buying his first father’s day gift for his father-in-law. The man liked his socks, so Jaime sent him a crate full of socks. Selwyn talked about it for weeks.

Brienne held onto Jaime when their old house came on the screen. They smiled when Brienne met Tyrion and Tysha. “I can’t believe she hid her nausea so well,” Brienne said.

Jaime nodded. Tysha was pregnant at the time of filming, and Tyrion and her decided to announce it later—off camera. Margaery delivered a healthy baby boy, named Gerion. The little boy rolled over last week—Tyrion almost bought the baby a beer to celebrate.

Tension music filled the background when Brienne and Cersei talked in the yard. They built Cersei as a villain. _Serves her right._ If only their father had the guts to make it on camera…

Despite the fact they knew the end, Jaime and Brienne fidgeted and winced as the episodes continued. Jaime’s mouth dropped low, low, _low_ when he saw strippers surround Brienne on a bus!

“You didn’t tell me this!”

“I did—I did—You want to see them dry hump Missandei?”

Jaime glared. “No!”

She smirked. She could probably see his face turn green, so Jaime looked away and watched the girls and guys drink at their parties. He hated that day.

They watched one wedding after another except theirs—yet . Sansa’s and Theon’s wedding showed first. Jaime held back his laughs when Theon scrambled his way through the venue. It was funny until Jaime imagined himself in his position. Jaime and Brienne continued to cuddle as they saw weddings of Dany and Drogo, Grey and Missandei, Sam and Gilly. Ellaria and Oberyn’s smiling breakup came after, but it appeared so well mannered, Jaime doubted they broke up at all. They had always been a unique couple.

Brienne and Jaime’s wedding came last. The final episode—the episode that aired today. 

Jaime refused tears when he heard Brienne’s interview about the wedding. Her doubt in him felt like it happened years ago, and he looked over her with a smile. She smiled back and leaned closer.

“I wanted to find love and I’ve found it,” Jaime said in his interview. 

It sounded so cliche, but it was real. He risked everything to find love on this show, and he had been living in a year of such happy peace he forgot all the trouble he went through to find it—to find Brienne.

“I wish,” Jaime said in the interview, “Brienne would realize how beautiful she is. I don’t know how to tell her. Beauty is like money—it’s a made up concept. You’ll hear everyone talk about how important money is, but I disagree. Happiness matters more. Fulfillment matters more. How does one get happier or more fulfilled? It’s different for everyone. For me, Brienne is exactly what I want. Brienne is beautiful. I’m happy and I’m fulfilled. I hope she feels the same way...”

Beside him, Brienne sniffled. 

Jaime and Brienne watched the show cut into Cersei’s arrival—and likely one of the most dramatic scenes of the show. A shaky camera showed Selena walk straight into the shot and show a video of Cersei calling. It was horrible—even a fool could hear Cersei’s voice on the phone. Jaime knew people would think this entire scene was staged—but it wasn’t. He felt thankful producers sided with them. It turned out there was a clear pro to having cameras on all the time. 

Brienne squeezed his arm when they saw Brienne walk down the aisle, and she squeezed harder when Jaime said his speech at the altar. He had never felt so nervous—he went with the flow. The show clearly loved it, because they added many, many seconds of drama and filmed everyone’s reactions. Even Tyrion, Tysha, Margaery and Selwyn winced. Jaime grimaced until he finally said “I do” on screen—and music instantly changed to a celebratory romantic song.

After a huge sigh of relief, they watched their reception and interviews—better than any videographer could have done. It did feel a bit awkward and break immersion when the finale showed Oberyn and Ellaria leaving the venue. Jaime frowned when he saw Theon and Sansa look at their rings, but at least they made up, assuming they were happy. 

“I’m off the market!” Jaime said on the screen, and the camera caught Brienne’s wide eyed stare.

Music continued as it showed everyone’s reception and dancing in slow motion. Everyone looked happy—and the final shot displayed Brienne and Jaime’s kiss at their reception, mid-dance. “Love is Blind” illuminated over the shot while the screen faded to black. Credits followed.

“Wow,” Brienne said. “That was amazing.” She pulled out her phone.

“It is. I don’t think Selena and Jimmy were lying when they said we were their favorite—”

“People are calling us Braime. Cersei’s trending, but I wouldn’t call it fame. More… infamy.” Brienne looked up from her phone in a mix of a smile and grimace.

Jaime sneered and asked, “Why not Jaimenne?”

Coincidence led their phones to buzz—Brienne had long lost her “wee” notification and replaced it with a mature ding. Producers sent them a text and asked to finalize their consent to a reunion episode in a few days.

Now that he watched the show, Jaime’s heart felt like it just did 100 burpees. People knew them. People liked them—he hoped. But the pressure of having his life in public made him pause. Magazines and sites already wanted to interview them, but both Jaime and Brienne preferred seclusion.

Both Zoe’s tail wags and Brienne’s soft hand entered his clouded view. Both of them seemed to understand whenever Jaime slipped into his own worries, and they rescued him with a lifejacket of smiles.

“Hey, we’ll be okay. We are okay,” Brienne said. “Are you okay?”

_Am I?_ He worried fame or people’s questions might make Brienne doubt his love for her. They could make an obscene amount of money promoting ridiculous vitamin pills on social media as influencers—but he knew it wouldn’t fulfill either of them. He loved catching other MD (moronic dumbasses) prescribing antibiotics for fungal infections and he loved telling them off. Brienne would end her residency in a year and become an attending… somewhere. He would follow her. Surely, there would be bugs wherever she wanted to go. Fame and pressure were only a small challenge he needed to face, and in the grand scheme of things, he needed to take his own advice. Be happy and be fulfilled. With her love and her support, he could tackle the world.

“Yes,” he smiled, “I’m great.” He rubbed her hand—their wedding rings clinked together as they touched. “Are you?”

“I’m perfect. We’re married, we’re in love,” she said and cuddled closer to him. Her sultry eyes danced to look at him. “And I’m beautiful.”

Jaime smirked and wet his lips. “Yes,” he whispered, “yes, you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope my first attempt at a rom com was a success and I appreciate every kudo, comment, and drop of support! It took me a while to switch out of angst and get in the mood of his comedic mess, but I had a great time writing it! I'll probably start another rom com in the future. 
> 
> Credit where credit is due: thank you to my beta reader @2manycharacters. I know they probably won’t read this, but I’m thankful for the doctors and patients who inspired this story. There is a real life sassy ID doctor out there and I’ve been reading his guidelines of sass for years. All psych stories mentioned are inspired by real life patients I’ve seen in a psych ward. Yes, the burrito bomber is a real person, and yes, he puts coins in his eye. He’s a nice guy! :3
> 
> May is mental health month and I hope everyone is healthy. If you ever need someone to talk with, I’m always here and available on tumblr.
> 
> If anyone is curious where I’m headed next, I want to tackle gothic genre for JB. Crimson Peak! Without the hefty violence... My goal is to improve my writing with each work and I’m feeling brave enough to tackle more literary depth. And improve prose. This story helped my figurative language and I’m sure you can spot loads of similes and metaphors. I’m always welcome to writing/editing feedback here and on my tumblr! :) <3
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr (@cytarabi) for updates and sneak peaks. :) <3


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